Needing You
by sarapals with past50
Summary: GSR will always be a love story! That's what this story is-Sara and Nick are on a simple case, but what happens changes everything. A little bit of angst, lots of fluff, a sweet Sara, and a loving Grissom-and a story set at a time in the future!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: We don't own anything related to CSI or its characters; just having fun! And GSR will always be a love story! Enjoy-more to come!_

**Needing You**

Chapter 1

Squinting her eyes behind dark shades, Sara Sidle pressed fingers against her head and wished for the headache to disappear. The drive to the far north edge of the city had not taken long—traffic at mid-day tended to be less snarled than any other time of the day. She turned the radio on and let it play for several minutes before deciding the noise made her headache worse.

She drove another ten minutes before she stopped the vehicle in front of a house that had been built long before the neighborhood had developed and it had never 'caught up'. Glancing around, she noticed most of the houses she had passed had seen better days. The little shade provided by the stunted trees had already been taken by two other vehicles. Her head pounded; she pressed a palm to her eye trying to ease the pain.

Cutting the engine, a minute passed before Sara patted the pockets of her vest, making sure everything was in its place. Her fingers touched Velcro tabs, unconsciously adjusting the fit. She had checked her kit and the vehicle she was in before leaving the lab parking lot. Officially working part-time, she had learned to check her supplies, making sure everything was where it needed to be.

Softly, she chuckled. Even though she was working reduced hours, she was still working more than she wanted. Hearing her name, she looked up. She would always come when her friend and current supervisor called.

"Hey!" She called, smiling as Nick Stokes approached her. "What'd you find?" The two had worked together for so long that she had not questioned his request for her to drive out to the address.

He stopped several feet from her. "You are a welcomed sight, Sara." He laughed as he placed hands on hips. "I appreciate you coming—I really am trying to call you less." He spread his hands and laughed, shaking his head. "Do you remember a time when we would come up with an excuse for not working? 'I got a dentist appointment' and 'my mom is in town'—these new kids never worked for Grissom!"

Sara laughed with him at his referral to her husband. The laughter did not help her headache.

Nick continued, "You know he always had his reasons for not working day shift—always a revolving door, he claimed, and now I know he was right." He stepped forward and took her case from her hand. "Old man who owns the place dead in the living room—probably died of natural causes from the looks of things. Kind of a recluse. Mail carrier called in when the mail had not been collected in several days."

"Looks peaceful out here," Sara said as they walked toward the house.

The house was built of native stones—fitted together without obvious cuts by a skilled stonemason—with wide porches across the south and west sides providing shade from the sun. There were scrubby trees and dried up scrubs scattered across a long-neglected dusty clay yard.

"Yeah, you don't see many of these old rock houses left."

"So, if his death wasn't suspicious…"

Nick held the screen door open. "It's the body in the bedroom that got you out here."

Sara's eyes widened.

"Been there a while," Nick finished.

Inside the house, the temperature dropped ten degrees. Thin curtains moved with a hot breeze blowing in open windows covered by bars designed and installed to prevent break-ins.

Quickly surveying the room, Sara saw a man's body in an old recliner. "Doesn't smell," she said. "And the place is clean."

A young man, whose name she could not remember, was meticulously examining the body. He looked up and blushed. "Hello, Sara. Nice to see you again." He wrinkled his nose in an effort to get his eyeglasses in place before returning to his work.

Sara looked at Nick, mouthing "Name?"

"Found anything, Sam?"

The young man looked up again, "Nothing to indicate—given his age, position of the body, I'll venture natural causes." He noticed Sara and blushed again. "Of course, that's all preliminary."

"What about the other one?"

"Finishing up here—then I'll get to number two."

Nick grinned. "Sara, you want to help Sam with number two?'

A deeper blush spread across Sam's face.

"I'll take a look while you are finishing up," Sara said, pulling her camera into her hand. She shot a glance at Nick and jerked her head for him to follow her.

Walking behind her, Nick leaned forward, almost touching her ear, and whispered "Sam has a crush on you!"

Sara grimaced. "Yeah, right. I could be his mother!"

Nick giggled, "You always had the boys following you, honey."

They stopped at a bedroom doorway. Both remained quiet as Sara took in what was in the room.

Finally, she said. "Either I've stepped into 'A Rose for Emily' or 'Psycho-Redux'!"

The bed appeared to be an antique four-poster, a canopy frame covered in faded chintz, repeated in the bedcover, the curtains, and a chair in the corner, gave an eerie shadow and light impression on the bed. Everything was spotlessly clean. A mirror over the dresser reflected sunlight causing Sara to narrow her eyes.

The skull on the pillow threw everything into a macabre movie scene—and if the condition of the skull was an indication, the rest of the mummified body had been lying in the same place for years.

_A/N: Thanks for reading-now write us a short message, review or comment! We are ever so appreciative! _


	2. Chapter 2

A/N_: Thanks for reading-and now:_

**Needing You**

**Chapter 2**

"Any idea who it is?" Sara asked, raising her camera and taking a series of photographs before stepping into the room.

"Ike and Ellen Thomas have owned the property for over fifty years. Mr. T is probably in the recliner—so this might be Mrs. T."

Sara walked around the bed taking photos, "People are weird, Nick," she smiled. "But thanks for giving me the bony one."

He gave her a mock salute. "Make Sam's day—give him a wink," he snickered as he turned to leave.

Taking more photographs, Sara moved around the room. She opened several drawers, finding old clothing that looked like it had not been touched in years. In an old wallet, she found a drivers license five years expired; the photo was of the same woman in several pictures sitting around the room.

Sara raked her gloved hand through old nylon underwear and uncovered a small leather box. She lifted it from the drawer just as Sam entered the room.

"Hey, Sam," she smiled. "I've taken photos of the bed as it is." When he blushed and cleared his throat several times, she waved the camera toward the bed. "I'll take more as we uncover her—him. Probably a female." She laughed softly; her head ached so bad she felt like curling up in the bed beside the corpse. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, yes," Sam said as he shuffled nervously. "I'm not too early?" His face instantly turned pink.

Sara tried forgetting her headache and smiled. "Let's roll back the covers and we'll see what—what we find."

Together, they folded the bedspread and sheet to the foot of the bed. Sam knew the process and gave her time to take photographs. Rotted cloth, a pale purple, covered the chest and clung to bones.

"Doesn't look disturbed, does she?"

"How does one leave a body in a bed—live with it?" Sam asked.

Sara chuckled, softly, "I've been doing this a long time, Sam. It blows my mind what people will do—actually, this isn't so bad. Poor old guy out front probably couldn't believe she was dead—or didn't want her to leave him. So he just left her alone." She stopped checking the bed. "He probably loved her—this is a woman's room, don't you think—left it as sort of a shrine."

"Funny way to show love," Sam muttered.

"I agree."

Sam checked for obvious indications of injury, saying "No trauma to the skull or the throat." Carefully, he continued checking the skeleton; Sara returned to her search of the room and the box she had left on the dresser.

She opened the box and gasped. "Well, now we know why bars are on the windows!"

Sam looked up as Sara lifted a gold coin; sunlight reflected on the metal as she turned it between two fingers. She knew it was a South African Krugerrand. She shouted, "I've found something, Nick—interesting!"

The box held at least fifty coins. By the time Nick reached the bedroom, she had found three more identical boxes. Sam remained by the bed, his mouth gapping as Sara opened each box.

"Well, now we have two bodies and boxes of gold," Nick said with a sigh. "Explains the bars on all the windows."

They left the boxes and coins and eventually gathered corners of the bed sheet and moved the skeleton to a gurney, tightly tucking the sheet around bones. After Sam rolled the remains out of the house, Sara turned to Nick.

"I've got to get some fresh air," she said. "All this" she waved a hand, "I have a splitting headache."

Nick nodded. "Sure—you okay?" When she did not answer, he followed her to the porch. "You okay, Sara?"

Sara pulled off her vest and sank down to the porch steps. "Had one yesterday," she pressed her hand against her temple. "Isn't going away." As her fingers stroked her forehead, she said, "It's so bad my eye hurts." She rubbed her eye with her fingers.

Nick frowned; looking closely, he noticed a slight difference in Sara's eyes. He could count on one finger the times Sara Sidle Grissom had mentioned a headache. He jogged to his truck and returned with two bottles of water.

He said, "You don't look so good—you sure you okay?"

Sara held the cold bottle to her forehead and propped her shoulder against the porch. "I've had this headache all morning—had one yesterday but this is worse."

"Go home, Sara. I'll handle this."

As she took a swallow of water, a grimace flashed across her face as an excruciating pain seemed to blind her right eye; she lost her grip on the bottle as her hand moved to her head, and she started to retch.

"Girl! You're sick!" Nick was immediately on his feet, reaching for his phone.

Weakly, Sara held up a hand. "It will pass."

Nick punched in a number. "Where's Grissom? Does he know you've had a headache for two days?"

Before the call connected, before Sara could say another word, as a worried Nick watched, her eyes rolled and she fainted. Dropping the phone, Nick managed to catch her head before she hit the steps. His shouts brought Sam and two deputies running.

Several minutes of confusion passed as the men attempted to revive her by saying Sara's name, bathing her face with water, loosening her clothing, in efforts to get a response. Sam was the first to make an emergency call; Nick missed whatever Sam told the emergency operator because he was leaving a message on Grissom's voicemail.

"Helicopter is coming," the young man said. "I've got an emergency kit in the van—something isn't right. Pulse is weak and thready, pupils dilated, one more than the other; she's unconscious."

A deputy got the kit and grabbed an ammonia capsule. "Wait!" Sam ordered, as he broke one capsule and held it under Sara's nose. "This isn't a normal faint. Lift her feet." One of the deputies did. "Let's roll her to her side." His fingers stayed on her neck, checking her pulse. "Nick, how far along is she?" Sam's hand fumbled in the first aid kit to find a stethoscope.

Nick tried to count before saying, "She's due in eight or nine weeks."

"You said she was complaining of a headache right before she fainted?"

"Yeah."

"Anything else?"

"She—she reached for her head—mentioned her eye just as she fainted." Tears were forming in Nick's eyes as he heard the helicopter, realizing something was dreadfully wrong.

Sam was checking vitals causing Nick to wonder how much experience the young man had with breathing patients when the rush of wind and noise from the helicopter seemed to block all actions and thoughts. He watched as three people jumped from the helicopter and ran to the porch. They worked for several minutes, asking questions, hooking monitors, securing and loading Sara onto the air ambulance before Nick realized his phone was ringing.

_Grissom_. Nick could not remember what he had said in his message.

He held the phone in his hand, unable to answer, not knowing what to say to Sara's husband. The noise of the helicopter was deafening; he watched as it lifted off. It had been on the ground for less than ten minutes and in all the confusion—no, he thought, it had been very organized—no one seemed to know what had caused Sara's unconsciousness. But he did know where she was being taken.

Responsibility and his innate dependability took over—he answered the phone.

A/N: _We always appreciate hearing from readers! More to come..._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: And the third chapter-a surprise for some of you!_

**Needing You**

**Chapter 3**

Dappled sunlight made shadow patterns along the sidewalk; a breeze ruffled leaves and provided a brief relief from the late summer heat. The old park and new playground was a neighborhood place—the same parents with their children came on a regular basis. The same pets and their owners used the dog walking area. Few strangers found this quiet haven in a bustling, tourist-filled city and even fewer knew of the existence of this decades-old area of Las Vegas.

Pushing a stroller and walking his dog, Gil Grissom knew he led a charmed life. His wife was happy; he was happy. Both were doing what they enjoyed in a love-filled home. And the little boy toddling along in front of him made their lives complete—almost complete—he chuckled at his thoughts. Little Will had been born after a complicated time in their marriage. He hated to think back to those weeks when he had forgotten to be a husband to his wife. He had returned to Vegas, taken a research position with the university, and found contentment in a happy, peaceful life with his wife. Eleven months later, they had become parents—and he had found an exhilaration in being a parent that he had never imagined. In his mind, his lifetime midpoint was set the moment little William Sidle Grissom had arrived. And he woke with a smile on his face every day.

Parenthood had changed both of them—they knew it, their friends confirmed it—in unexpected ways. Within minutes of Will's birth, Sara had announced she wanted another one. He could still remember the laughter in the delivery room; Sara's physician said most women waited a few weeks before making that decision. And in those minutes, he had watched his wife become a mother as she easily held their son—parental bonding he had read about but seeing it happen was a true miracle of life.

In a few weeks, they would have another child—a daughter—twenty months younger than Will. Two children, Sara had insisted, so they would not be alone. She was right, he knew from his own childhood how lonely an only child could be, how all the hopes and dreams of a parent centered on an only child. And Sara insisted, believed with firm commitment, the two siblings would be best friends forever.

He grinned as their little boy toddled to a play fort and attempted to crawl up the first step to a slide.

"Let me help, little buddy." He picked Will up and sat him on the second step. "Get your leg up and you're on your way!"

Grissom had gone into parenting as he had done everything. He read voraciously; he asked questions, observed other parents and children, and then made up his mind. On these regular trips to the playground, he never brought anything to read; he didn't converse with other parents. He watched his son—hovered, Sara said. And he was much more lenient and permissive than Sara. He chuckled; Sara would have waited, encouraged the little boy to climb the steps.

Will's chubby fingers curled around his father's fingers and with a tug managed to climb to the third step. The baby smiled, released his grip, and clapped his hands together.

"You did it!" Grissom clapped along with his son. "Now, are you ready to try the slide?"

Blonde ringlets shook as Will said, "No, no, no!" The little boy, content to stand on the small landing for a few minutes before backing down the steps, waved a determined finger. Grissom placed a hand near his son's bottom as the toddler descended each step.

The climbing process was repeated at least five times without variation before the child found another interest in the play set. Grissom watched as his son ran around colorful walls and crawled through various openings of the playground fort.

Today was 'Dad day' as Sara named the one day of the week when father and son were together while she worked. Three days a week, Grissom took his son to the university's child care center; within six months of his birth, he and Sara had realized 'over-parenting' put their child in isolation. Neither wanted their cherished baby to be out of their sight, but common sense prevailed. Sara changed to day-shift as soon as Nick became shift supervisor and Grissom set up a flexible work schedule at the university. With those simple changes, day-to-day life became even better. And Will had thrived in his expanding world.

Grissom pointed to the blue swings, asking, "Are you ready to swing?" The toddler babbled a few words and headed toward the swings. Grissom retrieved the red stroller and the dog and walked to the swings. Ten minutes in the swing would put Will to sleep and Grissom and Hank could take a leisurely walk around the park before making their way home. In a few minutes, with an ease that would have astonished some of his acquaintances, but unsurprising to those who knew him in his role as a parent, Grissom lifted his sleeping son out of the swing, arranged the child in the stroller, and headed to the dog walk.

As he walked away from the playground, Grissom heard his phone chirp with a message. Puzzled when he saw Nick Stokes' name appear, he pressed a button to listen, and became even more confused—concerned—at the sounds he heard before the phone cut off. Nick was shouting—shouting Sara's name, saying Sara had fainted. A worried frown puckered his forehead as he pressed the 'call back' button.

He heard five or six rings before Nick answered.

"Grissom." Nick almost whispered his name. "Where are you? Where is Will?"

"At the park—just walking back home. What's happened?" He realized there had been a hesitation—fear—in the few words Nick had spoken; Grissom stopped walking, a sudden panic gripped his thoughts. "Sara—where's Sara?" His hand held the phone so tightly he actually heard the bones in his hands crack. "Nick! Where is Sara?"

"Grissom—Grissom," Nick talked over Grissom. "University Medical Center—she fainted—she—she had a headache, but it was more," he paused. "Grissom, I think she may be bad—oh, man! I can't believe I'm having to tell you this over the phone—they just left—air lifted her. She'll be there quickly—it all happened so fast!"

"Was she breathing, Nick? On her own?" He swallowed an overwhelming dread.

"Yes, she passed out but she was breathing. Sam, the new coroner, was here. I—I think he recognized pretty quickly it wasn't just a headache. He's the one that got the helicopter out here."

Grissom started walking. "Medical Center—neuro—he thinks it's an aneurysm." His words seemed to come from some unknown speaker blurted from knowledge learned long ago.

"I can get someone to your place—to—for Will."

Grissom knew he had no time to delay; waiting for someone to show up would add minutes he did not have to lose. "I'll take him with me—thanks, Nick. I need to be there—quickly." He ended the call and pressed another number, quickly sending a text message to his mother. Betty Grissom would not ask questions and she would be at the hospital by the time he got there. He quickened his pace, trying to put in some order what must have happened—overriding every thought was one—get to Sara as quickly as possible. With every step he took, he seemed to hear the urgency in Nick's voice.

As he turned the corner a block from their home, he heard a quick blip of a horn, and turned as Greg Sanders pulled to a fast stop. He was out of the vehicle and standing before Grissom in a few seconds.

"Get in—Nick called. I'll take Will and Hank." He held his hand out, and without a word, Grissom placed keys in Greg's hand.

Blue lights on the vehicle were flashing. The driver's door had been left open and in less than a minute Grissom was inside and driving away.

_A/N: Thank you for reading. We appreciate hearing from you. Little surprise in this chapter-and a little angst to come._


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:_ Disclaimer-we know nothing about experiencing a real-life event like this, so forgive any mistakes!_

**Needing You**

**Chapter 4**

Grissom had no recollection of the drive to the hospital as he walked into the building and, in the middle of the day, the trauma center was unusually quiet—or it seemed to be as soon as he said his name. The woman at the desk pressed a hidden button that opened double doors.

"All the way back," she said, pointing through the door, and then spoke into a small microphone positioned around her face, announcing his arrival to an unseen person.

Grissom remembered his difficulty in distinguishing nurses from physicians when Will had been born and today was no different. A dozen people in scrubs of varying colors crowded around an area at the end of a long corridor. A man, taller than everyone around him, lifted his eyes as Grissom hurried toward them; stepping away from the group, he removed a glove and held out his hand.

"Mr. Grissom, I'm Dr. Tippen. We've got your wife ready for a MRI. We'll protect her abdomen—the baby—but," he stopped talking and waved a woman with a handful of papers away, "but you need to make some decisions—sign some papers. It will take a few minutes for the MRI but I'm afraid we're looking at an aneurysm. Indications—we'll know more—I don't think it's ruptured—not yet."

Grissom nodded, his brain trying to work through a fog of murkiness as he tried to process what he was hearing. His mind stumbled; his reasoning, his intuition impaired by the personal nature of what was happening.

Movement at the double doors caused the physician's eyes to shift away from Grissom; he turned to see his mother coming through the door. Quickly turning back to Dr. Tippen, the miasma in his mind lifted.

Grissom said, "Doctor, save my wife—do whatever it is you need to do, but save her."Grissom reached for his mother's hand as she came to his side. "Save her first."

The physician turned immediately, giving unneeded directions to the staff surrounding Sara. A gloved hand waved for Grissom to step forward and blue, pink, and green-clothed individuals parted without a word for him. No one stopped his hand as it caressed Sara's pale cheek or stopped his lips as he touched hers. His hand moved to her belly, shrouded in padding now. A stifled sob broke from his mouth; he could not breathe as the gurney began to move. His hand gripped the sheet covering Sara.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. The physician said, "We'll take care of her—we'll do everything we can. I'll talk to you after the MRI and you can see her again."

Grissom nodded, realizing his mother had taken his hand.

Twenty minutes passed before the doctor returned. Twenty minutes as Grissom signed form after form barely registering what each one meant as they were placed in front of him, as a nurse asked questions about Sara. He signed to his mother, seeing shock and anxiety in her face as he explained what was happening. A nurse—he was fairly certain she was a nurse—took them to a small private waiting area and, while pacing the floor, while minute after minute ticked, he heard heels clicking the floor.

No doctor, no nurse, no other person in his world walked with the rapid tattoo of his old friend and co-worker. And she seemed to know where to find him, saying as she entered the room:

"Oh, Gil. I came as soon as Nick called." Catherine Willows' arms wrapped around his shoulders. "How bad? What do you know?" She turned from Grissom and gave the same two-arm hug to his mother. "How are you, Betty?" She turned back to Grissom. "I told them I'm Sara's sister."

Wiping a hand across his face, Grissom could not say anything; Dr. Tippen walked in. The man did not smile as he sat down and spread images of Sara's brain across the small table. Holding an IPad for Grissom to see, he quickly pointed to a bulge in an area he called "the circle of Willis"—the primary blood vessels to the brain.

"There are many reasons this could occur—but right now, it needs to be stabilized." He held up two fingers. "One is to open up Sara's skull and clip the aneurysm. There is another procedure—a flow diverter—a mesh that forces the blood to flow around the aneurysm and helps it dissolve."

Interrupting him, Grissom asked, "How is Sara now?"

"She's sedated—lightly sedated. She was a little agitated when she arrived, confused, which isn't unusual. I—I don't believe she's had any permanent damage or effects from this but the ballooning is growing, almost visible as we did the MRI. Usually, in pregnancy, I would recommend postponing any procedure of this sort." The physician picked up one of the images. "I cannot suggest this be postponed because of this." He pointed to the ballooning vessel, another image on the Ipad. "See this—it's what we call a daughter—another forming from the original."

"If it were your wife…" Grissom stammered and stopped as he looked at the physician.

Catherine was frantically writing what the physician was saying so Betty could keep up.

Dr. Tippen shook his head. "I can give you statistics and experience, but I can't decide. We've got your wife's obstetric physician coming over—I believe Sara is thirty weeks pregnant."

"Almost thirty-two weeks," Grissom whispered.

The physician nodded and continued. "Thirty-two is better—should we have to make that decision. I've performed open skull surgery on pregnant women, but this is rare. I don't think we'll have to take the baby, but I don't want her going into labor."

Grissom's fingers moved across the images on the table. "If you clip it—it—what about later."

"It's major surgery. There are risks. She's in good health otherwise which is a tremendous plus. The only negative is her blood pressure is slightly elevated—which may be the reason this has happened. An old head wound or trauma may have weakened the vessel. The baby appears to be healthy—at thirty-two weeks, she would survive a premature birth." The physician continued, his voice concerned yet professional as he explained the surgery, recovery time, potential risks, the need for a scheduled delivery of the baby.

Grissom's hand went to his face at the same time Catherine made a cry and dropped her pen. Betty, realizing the conversation had changed to the baby, watched, lip-reading. She gripped Grissom's hand.

The physician quickly continued, "We will do all we can to prevent a premature birth—but it's a possibility."

"Do the surgery, Doctor," Grissom said. He reached across the table and grasped the physician's hand. "Do what needs to be done—save my wife."

The doctor nodded. "Come and see your wife. She may realize you're there—I think it helps a patient to hear a familiar voice."

When Grissom followed the physician into the room, he realized a quiet change had occurred. Emergency preparations had been replaced with purposeful motions—more monitors were at the bedside. The padding over Sara's belly had been removed and monitor leads were being attached. Sara appeared to be a frail, pale petal, motionless, among so much activity; her dark lashes lay in perfect crescents above her fair cheeks. Tears came to his eyes.

"Hello, Dr. Grissom," a soft voice said. "I'm sorry we have to see each other under these conditions."

The voice was Sara's obstetrician—a woman who had become a friend as well as trusted physician. He nodded, unable to bring thoughts into words.

"She's going to be fine. I'll be in surgery with her," the physician smiled. "We have the best neonatologist in town with us. And, if it's any comfort, Sara's condition is so rare, everyone wants to be here—the very best in Vegas." Gently, she guided Grissom toward Sara's head. "Talk to her for a few minutes. She's very lightly sedated—she'll hear you."

He passed others as if they did not exist, his hands touching her face, fingers smoothing across her forehead as he placed his mouth to her ear. He wanted to pull her into his arms, feel her hands across his shoulders. But, except for her face, her body had been taken by others—his fingertip traced across an eyebrow.

"Sara, Sara," he whispered. His voice gained strength as he said, "I love you, Sara. I don't say it enough!"

None but those nearest the patient could have seen or noticed the change, every so slight, in their patient; her blood pressure lowered, her pulse steadied, the regular beep and hum of monitors indicated a steady beat of Sara's heart.

"Keep talking," someone whispered.

Someone was combing her hair—at first, confusing Grissom until he realized the reason for the careful brushing and the purpose it served.

Grissom talked, softly telling his wife about the trip to the park—an event that seemed so long ago. He talked about painting a bedroom for their new baby, a task he had postponed for weeks, because Sara could not decide on a color.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Time to take her back."

"You will tell me…"

The obstetrician said, "Someone will come out—to keep you posted—every fifteen minutes or so. She'll have the best care available."

A woman dressed in pink scrubs guided him through a maze of doors and hallways to another small room where his mother and Catherine waited. He sat down and consciously breathed for the first time in minutes, finally saying, "I should check on Will."

"How is Sara?" Catherine asked.

Grissom blinked, almost surprised to find the two women in the room with him. "She's in surgery—Will—I left Will with Greg." He fumbled, his hands shaking as he attempted to find his phone.

"He's fine—Nick called. He's with them," Catherine said. "They—the nurse that brought us here said someone would come in with updates."

"Yeah, yes," Grissom mumbled; he turned to his mother, attempting to sign, faltering in his efforts. He said no more as his mother pulled him into an embrace, holding, gently rocking him as if he were a baby, her arms strong around his shoulders and he cried.

A/N_: Thanks for reading, now do the right thing and leave a review! More to come..._


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: _Thanks for reading! A note about MRI: the imaging does no harm to a fetus but there is a possibility the noise may affect a baby's hearing, so that's the reason Sara was padded for her MRI. _

_Now-on to this chapter!_

**Needing You**

**Chapter 5**

When Sara sank to the porch, feeling as if her head was splitting open from some unseen blow, everything around her seemed to unfold so slowly that it became dreamlike, and for that reason she wasn't quite as scared as she should have been. Yet somewhere in her brain, she understood that her day was being radically altered.

When cold water hit the back of her throat, she gagged and tried to vomit. Sunlight dimmed and she knew she was falling before the light became a gray nothing. It was a while before she realized there were hands all over her—not in a bad way—as she felt her body being lifted, no effort extended on her part, as she was moved, gently, as someone held her head. And voices she did not recognize were asking her questions she could not answer. Or maybe she didn't want to answer because her head ached so horribly—unbearable to the extent that she sighed and rolled back into an unconscious state.

Without knowing how she knew, time had passed—minutes or hours—because the air had changed, the sounds had changed. She was cooler; the air was purer. For a few minutes her brain responded to some stimulus and she swam to a confused wakefulness. The whirring thumping she heard knocked her memory back to a time when she was fighting for her life—and she fought again. If life was playing some strange trick of fate, pushing her back to that night in the desert, she wasn't going without a fight. When she cried for the one person she trusted to save her, she did not get a response—just more questions—questions she did not understand.

In her semi-conscious state, she realized she was in a helicopter with three strangers, one repeating over and over that she was going to the hospital. A cool relief flooded her body. Her last thought before passing into unconsciousness was the relief was so rapid it had to come from drugs.

Somehow, Sara dragged herself out of nothingness, no memory of a dream, past caring, a welcomed oblivion from the dreadful ache in her head and heard a beloved voice near her ear. Attempting to open her eyes to see the wavy curls of hair gone white, the lined, patient features of his adored face, and the blue eyes looking into hers with love and longing, she relaxed and tried to smile, tried to open eyes that would not cooperate with her wishes.

She wanted to say, "Help me, Gil."

And he responded as if he had heard by kissing her cheek, by touching her face, and by whispering very clearly into her ear that he loved her. She tried to say "yellow—as splendid as the sun" when he talked about painting the baby's room. The baby—she had forgotten—how could she forget she was pregnant? But she could not be in labor—having a baby was nothing like this. Her scrambled thoughts coalesced into a certainty—she had a baby and his name was Will. And she was going to have another. How could she have forgotten not one baby, but two! The pain in her head had drained her of the ability to think—she was a wife and a mother—she had married Gil Grissom, she had his child, a son, and soon she would have his daughter. She wanted to laugh, but the thought caused her headache to return with a vengeance.

Drifting between a whirling dream-filled sleep and a medically induced blankness, Sara tried to focus on the one constant certainty of her life—she loved Gil Grissom and he loved her. His face would come into focus for a moment, and then go away on a tide of pain; but the memory persisted, and while he was with her she knew she would not die.

As Sara was carefully and skillfully placed into an anesthetized sleep by a team of Las Vegas' best anesthesiologists and neurosurgeons, a small rectangle of her scalp was gently shaved of its dark hair; the woman doing it had performed this process dozens of times and her secret talent lay in removing only as much hair as needed for the incision. She had practiced leaving enough hair so that if surgery was not a success, the family's last image would not be flawed by the lack of hair on their loved ones head.

Another equally talented and proficient team of obstetric and neonatal professionals tended to an array of extremely sensitive monitors on the small baby within Sara's body. In these rare circumstances of particularly delicate surgery on a pregnant woman, the baby was considered and treated as a separate patient. Blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen levels were monitored for any irregularity as carefully as those of the surgical patient.

While Sara's skull was drilled, cut, and removed, while her brain was delicately parted to expose a ballooning aneurysm almost an inch in diameter and a tiny titanium clip attached to its neck, her husband waited. He made no attempt to hide his fears as his hands twisted, his eyes darkened, and his face etched with helplessness.

As promised, a nurse arrived every fifteen to twenty minutes with an update, a progress report—Sara and her baby were fine—repeated three or four times in one hour. Grissom's response was a nod, a word of appreciation, as his mother tightened her hold on his hand. In the time it took for all three to settle into their seats, to say a few words of relief, the anxious waiting began as they waited for the next report.

Catherine had always been able to get her good friend to talk but today his responses were monosyllables that turned into bare recognition of her presence. She left the small room and returned with cups of coffee, muffins, and magazines—and made two telephone calls while she was gone. Returning, she placed one of the cups in Grissom's hand.

"Drink this, Gil." She tore a muffin in half and placed it in his free hand. "Eat," she commanded. "I called Nick to report and Will is in the bathtub, happy as a clam. They are staying with him until…and I called Jim Brass."

Grissom looked up. "Jim?" A ghost of a smile crept around the corners of his mouth. "We haven't seen him in weeks. He was going to Alaska on a cruise—and drive back."

"He's coming over," Catherine said. The waiting could go on for hours and she wanted a friend, another person who Grissom trusted to be here.

Another update came; this time Grissom stood as the nurse entered the room, shook her hand and thanked her. After she left, Grissom leaned against the wall.

"How much longer, Catherine?"

She stood and placed a hand on his back. "It could take five hours."

"What would I do without her?" His voice quivered, barely a whisper. "For so long, I was such a fool."

Catherine started to protest; Betty moved to his side just as a soft knock tapped against the door.

Jim Brass stuck his head into the room; his face was a map of worried concern, but, seeing the anguished faces, he managed a smile before asking, "How's our girl doing?"

Grissom stumbled, hesitant in forming a response.

Catherine pulled him into a hug. "It's so good to see you, Jim! So far Sara's doing fine—we get a report every fifteen minutes." She hugged him again. "I'm so glad you came!"

He hugged Betty Grissom and signed a compliment that made her laugh. Turning to Grissom, he said, "My mother always said a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved. You should have called me hours ago. What about the baby?"

The frankness of Jim's question might have startled another person, but Catherine smiled as Grissom answered. "The baby is being monitored—she's okay but there's the possibility of premature delivery." He sat down and everyone else did the same. "You should have seen all the people with her—enough doctors to stuff a ballroom at the Bellagio." He raked a hand across his face. "She doesn't want to live in a vegetative state—not as an invalid." Tears filled his eyes and just as quickly, he wiped them away. "I don't know what I'll do—she has to be okay—I—I don't know what I'd do without her."

Brass cleared his throat. "Don't go there, Gil. Sara's going to be fine. She doesn't know all this is going on—and when she wakes up, you need to be the face she sees. And don't look like you are standing at her graveside." He chuckled. "Remember when I got shot? When I woke up and saw your face, I knew angels didn't look like Gil Grissom, so I was still living—now if Catherine had been there…" He chuckled again. "How are you doing, Catherine? Are you happy to be home?"

Quickly, Catherine responded, "Very! I didn't realize how much I'd miss the place until I left." She wrinkled up her nose. "And federal employment is great—but not for me. I like to have my head on the same pillow night after night."

"I tried to tell you to stay in Vegas," Grissom said; his eyebrow lifted slightly as he spoke.

She laughed, "You were one to talk—if I remember correctly, you were gallivanting all over the world at the time! Poor Sara was holding down the home front—and you were home once a month!"

Betty, who had been lip reading the conversation, laughed and started signing. Grissom translated, laughing as he did. "She says she would never have had grandchildren but Sara put her foot down and ordered me to come home." He signed as he spoke, "How did I get to be the subject of this conversation? Jim asked if you were happy to be home!"

Catherine talked while Grissom signed. She had returned to Vegas, was spending a lot of time upgrading her house, and taken a position on the board of her father's casino. "Not much actual work, but I'm there for the ribbon cuttings." She had traveled for the FBI for several years, "not many murders, but financial and white collar stuff" she explained.

"Didn't you investigate a murder in Florida?" Brass asked.

"Oh, right—I talked to you about that one. A lawyer's wife from Tennessee was killed in Florida and the FBI got involved because locals thought it was a contract murder—across state lines—that was one of my first cases." She shared the results, adding, "That case was shown on one of those crime television shows because the killer was never found."

Brass and Grissom shook heads as Brass said, "Some never get solved—we've had our share."

A knock on the door stopped their talk; as the door opened, Grissom stood. Dr. Tippen, the neurosurgeon, stood in the doorway. Sara had been in surgery for nearly three hours.

_A/N: Thank you! We appreciate hearing from you and more to come!_


	6. Chapter 6

A/N_: Thank you for continuing with us! We are not experts in this type of surgery or recovery (its fiction!) so forgive any mistakes we make in the progression of our story!_

**Needing You**

**Chapter 6**

When the words were out of the physician's mouth, Gil Grissom would have followed him into a whiteout blizzard or blazing fire.

"Success," he announced with a smile that almost made it to his eyes. "Your wife will be in recovery in a few minutes—I'll take you back." After adding more details about the surgery, assuring everyone mother and baby were fine, he asked Grissom to follow him. As they walked together, the doctor exuded enthusiasm for Sara's recovery. "A textbook case—I will say this, the people with her recognized the severity of her headache—and realized she had not simply fainted. She is a lucky woman, if you believe in luck, Mr. Grissom! Another day—no, another few hours—and she would have had months of recovery."

They were met by the obstetrician and neonatologist who reported, with obvious relief, on the condition of baby girl Grissom. The obstetrician cautioned, "Surgery is over, the crisis has passed, but with this kind of event, we need to continue to monitor Sara and the baby. We'll discuss particulars later—go see her now. You need to be with her."

Grissom was handed a gown and shoe covers and quickly had them on. Directed to a sink, he scrubbed his hands. By the time he dried his hands, a woman appeared to say: "She's ready, Doctor," and gave a slight nod in Grissom's direction.

The recovery room was softly lighted and quiet except for the subtle swish of shoes and uniforms and the low hum of machines. It took Grissom a minute to realize there was only one patient.

Sara, almost completely covered by white blankets, hooked to a dozen machines, was almost unrecognizable. Her head was covered with a tight fitting white cap over bandages that came to an inch above her eyebrows and only when he got to the bed could he see her dark hair had been pulled to one side and gauze had been taped over her right eye. A breathing apparatus covered her mouth.

The physicians had followed him.

The neurosurgeon said, "She's breathing on her own—the mask is enriched oxygen and we'll remove it as soon as she's awake. The patch over her eye is a precaution. Her pupil had dilated due to pressure—a few days and it will be fine." He continued explaining expected outcome for recovery—intensive care unit for up to four days, then another few days in a private room. He turned to the obstetrician.

She said, "We'll monitor Sara and the baby—constantly—while she's in the hospital." She glanced at the neonatologist but Grissom, his eyes on Sara, did not notice. "It would be best if she remained in the hospital until the baby is born."

Grissom had tentatively held his hand over Sara's shoulder until the surgeon had nodded approval. Gently, Grissom's fingers touched her neck. Someone pushed a stool to the bedside.

"Is the baby okay?" He asked. His fingers moved along Sara's chin; his left hand moved to rest on her protruding belly.

The neonatologist said, "The baby is fine—we'll discuss all of this later. She's a healthy baby—barely noticed what was going on with her mother—but she needs a few more weeks before she has a birthday."

For the first time, Grissom looked at specialist and realized how young he was. "Thank you, thank you," he extended his hand and shook hands with each physician. "Thank you for saving my wife and daughter."

"Sara is going to wake up soon—slowly, and probably confused," the neurosurgeon explained. "You can stay with her as long as you want while she's in recovery, but when she moves to intensive care, they have their own rules in there but in this case, I think we can bend a few."

Grissom eased onto the stool, nodding his head in agreement, desperately wanting some recognition, some indication from Sara that she was okay—that she was fine. Sensing his need for privacy, everyone pulled away from the bedside as husband lifted his wife's hand and held it to his cheek.

With a muddled mind, Sara knew something had happened—she did not like _"The Wizard of Oz"_ but that comment about not being in Kansas rose from some wrinkle in her brain and floated into her consciousness. She was so disoriented, as if caught in a sandstorm maelstrom, that she knew neither up nor down, left or right, and when she tried to speak she knew she made no sound. Then she remembered her baby—her baby girl—and suddenly she was warm and comfortable and dreaming.

She was outside, walking along a beautiful little stream lined with trees in full leaf and red and yellow flowers, a bright sun overhead in a cloudless sky. Floating in the clear water, brilliantly shining, were hundreds of gold coins. A child—in the dream she knew it was her daughter—ran in front of her. The little girl danced in circles—no, not running; the baby was floating above the ground, waving her hands, not at Sara but at someone behind them. Turning, Sara saw her husband and her son following the same path. She reached out to the baby girl who seemed extremely agile for an infant, her hand not quite catching the small waving baby. Quite clearly, Sara heard the tiny girl say "not yet, Mommy! Not yet!" and slipped away from her outstretched arms. Sara giggled.

Grissom knew Sara laughed—or attempted to laugh, as much as one could with a mask over one's mouth and nose.

Gently, he kissed her curled fingers and said, "Sara, you've had surgery."

Behind him, a quiet female voice said, "Ask her to squeeze your hand or open her eyes."

Grissom asked, "Can you squeeze my hand, honey?" He covered her hand with both of his. "Squeeze my hand, Sara."

Sara had no idea how long she had slept but when she heard Grissom's voice, she responded by doing as he asked—she squeezed his hand. And when he asked her to open her eyes, she tried to open heavy lids but her eyes would not cooperate. Then she felt a warm hand on her cheek and her eyes opened to see the face of her very real, but blurry, husband. She blinked but her eyes failed to focus. She tried to speak, but coughed instead.

Immediately, another hand was on her face and taking something away from her mouth, but Grissom's solemn face remained. In her confused state, she realized she could not see anyone else, yet she knew other people were around her. She could hear; she could see, and she could feel, yet she knew there was much she did not know.

When her eyes flickered open, Grissom smiled. Whispering, he said, "You've had surgery and now you're going to be fine."

She attempted to ask a question but all she heard was a croak.

"The baby is fine." He tapped a finger against his temple. "You had an aneurysm—it was causing your headache. The surgeon had to operate." His hand came back to her face and his thumb caressed gently across her cheek. "You're going to be fine."

A/N:_ Thank you for reading! And we appreciate reading your comments!_


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: _Thank you for reading-now, write us a review after this chapter!_

**Needing You**

**Chapter 7**

Sara knew she faded in and out of full consciousness. She had no sense of time but she was aware of a steady stream of people who came and went around her bed. She remembered familiar faces looking at her in a pattern similar to a kaleidoscope's rotation—belonging to those she worked with, to her mother-in-law, and she clearly recalled seeing Jim Brass. She knew Grissom remained with her, sitting quietly at times, always holding her hand or touching her face. When she stirred, he talked to her so she knew she wasn't alone. And Sara felt safe, knowing that nothing bad could happen as long as her husband was beside her.

Finally, she managed to open and focus one eye—somehow she knew one eye was covered by a soft white bandage—on the loved face of her husband. She noticed the fine lines of wrinkles around his eyes, the unshaven chin, his rumpled shirt, the dark smudges under his eyes, the tufts of hair sticking out from his head—he looked as if he had just gotten out of bed after too little sleep. She laughed—a croaky chuckle—which caused Grissom to turn his head to one side and smile. Fragments of memory joined together; she had seen him look like this before—after nights when little Will would not sleep and after hours of great sex.

Her humorous thoughts bubbled to surface as another giggle.

Gil Grissom did not know if his wife's sudden laugh—two of them—came as an aftereffect of surgery or if she actually found the situation amusing or if she was simply confused. He was delighted to hear any vocal response. He said, "Hello, dear, and what is it you find so funny?"

Sara wanted desperately to hug him but had only one free arm, so she lifted it and stroked his face with her fingers.

She said, "You look like you haven't slept in a while. How long have I been here?"

Covering her hand with his, he said, "Yesterday, about this time, you blacked out—went unconscious. Nick and Sam, the young coroner, were with you, realized you were—you were in bad shape, and got you to the trauma center in a helicopter. You had an aneurysm the size of a small marble causing all kinds of problems and blowing up like a balloon. You had surgery—that's what all of this is around your head," he grinned, "and took your time waking up." He could not stop his smile; she wasn't confused, appeared to have no memory loss. Maybe—maybe the neurosurgeon was right and she would have a quick recovery with no lingering or detrimental effects.

Sara sighed, already exhausted from being awake for three minutes. "I'm sorry for all this trouble." Her voice was scratchy but clear. "Will? Where is Will?"

This time Grissom chuckled. "He's having a good time—my mother, Catherine, Nick, Greg, Doc Robbins' wife, DB's wife—there may be someone I've missed—are treating him like the new prince of England. I don't think he's missed you or me."

"How is Little Bean? Is she okay?" Little Bean was Sara's pet name for their baby girl.

"She's fine—feels like she's been doing cartwheels," Grissom said. "You've got more monitors hooked up for her than hooked up for yourself."

"How long?"

Grissom frowned, "How long?"

"How long will I be here? I feel like I've lost a week."

With a smile, he said, "You'll have to stay a few more days—we'll see what the doctors say."

Sara closed her eyes and for a minute, Grissom thought she had drifted to sleep.

"And the gold—what about the gold?" Sara asked; her head ached but the ache was different. She felt lightheaded, somewhat confused by the missing hours, but she definitely remembered boxes of gold coins in an old house with two dead bodies.

Grissom was clueless and for a few seconds, he thought his early silent celebration of her predicted recovery had been too soon. "Gold? What gold, honey?"

"It was in the house—boxes of gold coins," her face contorted into a frown. She opened her unbandaged eye. "It was floating in a stream." She pulled her hand away from Grissom's and placed it on her belly. "Little Bean said she wasn't ready to come."

Worried, Grissom pressed the nurse call button. He had spent the night sitting beside Sara in the intensive care unit, waiting for her to wake up. The nurses had been knowledgeable and kind as they had cared for Sara, explaining what to expect. The doctors, coming in frequently throughout the night and morning, had been encouraging about her recuperation.

Yet Sara was confused, talking about gold coins and the baby talking to her. "She's awake," he said to the nurse who showed up within a few minutes. "She can't seem to stay awake—and some of what she says is confusing."

The nurse moved around Sara's bed with confidence, saying, "A little confusion is to be expected—what else did she say?"

"She asked about our son—and the baby."

Sara blinked her eye and gave a soft laugh. "I've got a hole in my head." She laughed and began to sing, a quick, upbeat song, _"Won't you miss me like a hole in the head because I do, boy, and its cool boy and I bet you never thought I'd get out of bed because of you, boy!"_

Grissom was certain Sara had suffered brain damage, a major scrambling of her memory; he had never heard her sing this jingle.

The nurse laughed. "Sugababes—I haven't thought of that song in years!"

Sara said, "It popped into my mind—I use to sing it about a certain man I knew."

The nurse glanced at Grissom and said, "I think she's going to be fine." Carefully, the nurse checked several monitors as she asked Sara questions and got reasonable answers. One question, "Have you been dreaming?" brought another soft laugh from Sara.

"I think so—I'm not sure what I've dreamed and what has happened." She looked at Grissom standing at the end of the bed. "He looks very worried."

The nurse smiled. "He's been here since you arrived—we've had to order him out to get food!" The woman leaned over Sara and said, "If you'll get him out of here, we'll give you a good bed bath, get some of these wires removed, and freshen you up. Maybe even get you on your feet." She checked the bag of fluid above Sara's head. "If you can eat, we'll get this removed—anything you want?"

Sara thought she could eat; she didn't think she could hold her heavy head upright much less stand on her own feet, but the nurse seemed optimistic. She watched as Grissom nervously raked his hand across his face. She also knew recovery depended on her ability to do something other than lay flat on her back in a bed and recall long forgotten song lyrics. Waving her hand brought Grissom to her bedside.

"Give me a kiss, dear. Go home—take a shower and hug Will for me, please."

Very tenderly, he kissed her lips and caused her to smile with his gentle touch.

She whispered, "Kiss me like you mean it—like a lover!" And giggled so deeply she started coughing—which made her head feel as if it were coming apart. "Oh," she exclaimed, "Maybe I didn't mean that!"

He did kiss her again, gently, delicately, and with a great deal of hesitation, he left her for the first time since he had walked into the recovery room.

For another day, Sara remained in the intensive care unit, working to regain strength; she ate soup and yogurt, drank fruit smoothies every hour, and, when she felt her baby move, knew her recovery was progressing. Forty-eight hours after her surgery, she was moved to a private room.

_A/N: Thanks so much! Just write a short little comment in the box! We appreciate hearing from everyone!_


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: _Parties, parades, perfect weather for weekend-so as a treat, we're posting the next chapter sooner than later.__ Thank you for reading! A special thank you to those who review!_

**Needing You**

**Chapter 8**

Much slower than she had thought, Sara began her recovery and Grissom stayed with her. She did not know when he slept because when she opened her eyes, he was there, awake, his hand on her, a smile on his face. She had no problems with her eye once the patch was removed. When she began to eat, her appetite returned to its usual intake. And visitors came—Nick was there within hours, explaining the gold coins to Grissom and the three laughed as Grissom told of his confusion. Sara learned that all the faces she thought she had dreamed seeing were in the hall when she had been rolled into intensive care—she had not dreamed of seeing Jim Brass, DB, Catherine and others that day.

The next day, Sara insisted Grissom leave the hospital once a day. And once a day, as he began to talk about leaving, someone quietly knocked on the hospital door, came in and stayed several hours while he went home, played with Will, changed clothes, and returned.

Catherine was the first to arrive. "Honey, you need something other than a hospital gown if you're going to get better." And she upended a shopping bag containing three simple sleep shirts that buttoned in front along with several pairs of stretchy soft-knit pants and a pair of trendy flat sandals.

Almost crying with relief, Sara held her head as she laughed, trying to remember if Catherine had ever been in a hospital, certain she had never had a fetal monitor stuck to her belly twenty-four hours a day. "Thank you, Catherine." She ran fingers over the soft fabric, expensive, she knew. "Until I take a shower, I'll wear the green plaid," she said as she wrapped a finger around the neckline of the hospital's cotton gown. Then her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I have a plan for tonight—Gil goes downstairs to get fruit smoothies every night. Tonight, he gets a surprise when he returns!"

Catherine had to blink back tears; they had been so worried the day of Sara's surgery and today, she was joking and planning a surprise for Grissom. "I'll get someone in here so you can get a shower—no time better than now! Why wait until tonight?"

After two aides had assisted her in the shower and carefully helped to dry her body, Sara dressed in a dark rose pink shirt and black pants, telling all three women, "I feel like I'm living again—but I'm exhausted!"

A nurse applied a new colorful bandage around her head. "You had Louise taking care of your hair," she chuckled. When Sara looked confused, the nurse continued, "She's been working neuro for years and she knows how to shave a head—after these staples come out, you'll be able to brush your hair over the incision so it doesn't show as your hair grows out."

At the same time, and for different reasons, Sara and Catherine laughed. "Well," Sara said, "I've been thinking about a shorter haircut anyway."

"I'll take you to my hairdresser as soon as you can escape this place," Catherine said.

Before the nurse could get her hooked up to the monitors again, Sara's eyes were heavy. "Thanks, Catherine. You're a good friend." She yawned. "Sorry, I'm not good company," she said as her eyes closed.

Catherine patted her hand, "Sleep, honey. I've got a book to read in my bag."

"One of those smutty romance novels you were always trying to get me to read?" Sara asked. "How many of those paperbacks did you give me over the years?"

"I love a good romance—I'm reading historical romances—learning history and getting my trashy fix at the same time. You should try them!"

Sara giggled. "I'm into _'Goodnight Moon'_ right now—five times a night. I love that mush in a bowl." Her eyes remained closed as she placed her hand on top of her belly. "And now I'll have two under two." With a quiet laugh, she said, "I may never have romance again, Catherine!"

Catherine smiled. She had learned years ago about their 'great sex'. She said, "Oh, I think you'll have lots of romance, Sara."

Suddenly, Sara's eyes flew open. "Wake me before Gil comes in, won't you?" She smiled. "I want to see his face." She smoothed a hand over her belly. "I know I look like a whale, but at least I'm out of the green plaid."

Catherine laughed. She still found it hard to believe her supervisor and her co-worker had built a secret relationship under her nose and she had never suspected. A romance novel playing out before her and she never knew, she thought. She said, "Sara, I cannot imagine Gil ever thinking you look like a whale! Anyway, you are not that big!"

Grissom was surprised when he returned and, for a few seconds, tried unsuccessfully to hide his feelings as Sara held out her arms to show off her new shirt. He managed a delighted greeting to Catherine before getting to Sara.

Catherine knew when to leave and slipped out of the room unnoticed as the two kissed and began to murmur words she couldn't hear. They wouldn't miss her.

Sara's mother-in-law arrived the next day with arms filled with magazines and books, pleased with her selections that included several crossword puzzle books. She showed new photographs she had taken of Will as he played with Greg and Nick, as he was rocked to sleep by Jim, and even a short video of Will eating breakfast and signing "more".

"He is so smart," Betty signed, a proud smile on her face. She pointed to one of the photos and signed, "He looks so much like Gil in this one."

Sara and her mother-in-law had gradually become good friends; cautious with each other for several years, the birth of Will had swept all reservations away. Sara found she liked her mother-in-law and Betty loved the woman who had finally given her a grandchild.

As Sara had learned after Will's birth, Betty was a good companion. Unlike Catherine who kept a constant stream of conversation going, Betty moved around the hospital room doing things for comfort—adjusting blinds at the window, plumping pillows, refreshing Sara's water, and finding a pen for crossword puzzles—before she settled in a chair near the bed.

"Let me know if you need anything," she signed.

Sara nodded. She was worn out by her morning activities—walking twenty feet down the hallway, taking a shower, and then a long discussion with two of her doctors—and was grateful for the quiet. The obstetrician and neonatologist wanted her to remain on bed rest, preferably in the hospital, for the next four to five weeks.

She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep, as she went over each option they had given her. The first one had been discarded immediately—delivering the baby at the end of the week. She and Grissom had shaken their heads without comment.

Second option, her physician explained, was hospitalization for as long as possible—five weeks, hopefully, with constant monitoring and meds to prevent premature labor. The next alternative was home bed rest with frequent trips to the obstetrician's office for monitoring and neither obstetrician nor neonatologist would predict how long she could continue the pregnancy.

"Maybe three weeks—and that's a best guess."

The medications used for her surgery would not harm the baby, but a side effect was to change hormones of pregnancy leading to premature birth. It wasn't if it would happen but when. All the physicians agreed that she should have a planned C-section.

"The steroids will help the baby's development," her doctor explained, "so if you go three more weeks, it will cut down on time in the NICU."

Silently, tears formed along Sara's lashes. She wanted their baby girl to arrive healthy—like Will, who had arrived weighing nearly eight pounds, a perfect cherub wailing loud enough to announce his arrival to everyone. Afterwards, they had marveled at her short labor and delivery—a few hours of prep, several hard pushes and suddenly her son was sliding across the inside of her thigh, a sharp unbearable pain followed by sweet release as the infant was brought into the world. And now her second experience would be completely changed—perhaps, she thought, she had tempted fate at her age with a second pregnancy.

The headache she had from surgery was nothing compared to the heartache she felt for her baby. Sara had never pretended to be religious—not in a church-going way—but she did believe in a higher power. It had been a long time since she had prayed and she wondered if God kept track of who prayed and who didn't. She hoped not as she silently prayed for her baby, just a few words whispered toward the ceiling. But the words did not bring comfort, just made it more real that she had little control over what would happen.

She brought her fist to her mouth to stifle her sob. Her baby girl would be delivered by caesarean, placed in an incubator in a controlled environment while she grew and developed. Science and technology would save her baby—and dedicated nurses and doctors, she thought as another quiet sob shook her body.

Her movement caught her visitor's eyes. Betty came to the bedside and gently stroked Sara's face. She smiled and signed. "It's going to be okay—you are getting better every day."

Sara was too exhausted, to frustrated to sign. Tearfully, she said, "The baby will come early—premature. I don't know what to do."

Betty, skilled at lip-reading, realized why her daughter-in-law had tears running from her eyes; instantly, tears formed in her eyes. She reached back, turned a chair to face Sara, and sat so they were face to face. Carefully, she spoke softly as she signed "Everyone will be fine, Sara." Smiling, she continued, "Little Bean will be healthy. You are healthy." She made a sign for 'amusement' before signing "After all, she's a Grissom. She will be perfect."

Gently, Betty touched Sara's face and wiped away a track of tears.

"I don't know what to do," Sara whispered.

Betty signed, "What you do will be the right thing."

"We don't even have her room painted," Sara said, "or her crib put together. We thought we had plenty of time."

Betty reached for her purse and brought out a small notebook. "Make a list," she signed. She wrote across the page 'Paint room' and then signed "What color?"

"Bright yellow, I think—like a sunny day."

Smiling, Betty wrote the color 'yellow' and added 'Put crib together.'

Sara sniffed and wiped her face. "I wish I could see Will—I miss him."

Betty smiled and pulled out her phone. A minute later, she showed Sara a message.

"We can be there in 15."

Betty Grissom was not a large or frightening-looking woman, but she was determined and firm with her request for a wheelchair and assistance to move Sara from her hospital room to a smaller, pleasant waiting room. By the time Sara was transported, a bag of routine hospital items had been transformed into play-things; gloves had been blown up, plastic medicine cups were stacked together, and sheets of paper had been turned into an airplane, a boat, a chain of paper dolls.

Sara could not stop smiling as she heard footsteps approaching the room; this was the longest separation she and Will had ever had. The door opened slowly and Grissom entered the room.

_A/N: Happy Mardi Gras! Again, thank you for reading! What happens next? More to come..._


	9. Chapter 9

_A_/N: _A new chapter-thanks so much for reading!_

**Needing You**

**Chapter 9**

Expecting to see her son, Sara frowned, puzzled as Grissom walked into the room alone. His mother made a soft noise. Knowing the two women expected Will, he held up a hand.

"He's coming," Grissom whispered and held the door. Playfully, he said, "Dr. Grissom is needed in here!"

Surprised to see him, Sara watched as Nick stepped across the open door. Then her hand went to her mouth as Will toddled into the room. The child was dressed in the familiar clothes of a surgeon—green pants and shirt in miniature—his hair topped with a green surgical cap very similar to the cap tied around Sara's head.

When he saw his mother, he ran to her, an open mouth smile across his face. Instinctively, Sara reached out, her hands encircled his body.

At the same time, Grissom scooped his hand underneath Will's bottom and lifted him into Sara's lap. "Remember, nothing heavier than a plate."

Will wiggled onto his mother's lap, babbling a conversation that was understandable only by a few words and his motions as he showed Sara a soft green bag. He pulled out a toy stethoscope, a pretend thermometer, a plastic syringe, and several bandages.

Laughing, Sara said, "Someone has been learning what a doctor does!" as Will placed the stethoscope against her chest. He paid no attention to the cap covering his mother's head and quickly lost interest in the quiet machine monitoring his unborn sister.

Betty had made room for Nick on the sofa—both signing a greeting as they began a conversation—as Grissom stayed near Sara. He ended up sitting on the floor as Will crawled from Sara's lap to his and back onto his mother's until Sara moved to the floor to sit. It did not take long for the toddler to find the inflated plastic gloves and a game of toss, catch and tumble began.

Will, with an attention span of minutes, played between his parents, his grandmother, and his best friend, Nick, with his bag of toys, the gloves, paper airplanes and boats, and strings of paper dolls. He had always been an easy, trouble-free baby with bright blue eyes and a quick smile which had developed into a delightful laugh and today, even in a strange place, he was no different.

While he played, the adults managed to talk; Sara asked about Sam.

Nick grinned, "He'd like to come by—he's a little shy—says he doesn't want to intrude."

"Tell him I'd like to see him—thank him for saving my life," she said.

An hour later, a tired and sleepy Will, clutching one balloon glove, a paper airplane, and his pretend doctor bag, was gathered up in his dad's arms and taken to the car. By the time Grissom returned, Sara was back in her hospital bed so exhausted she could barely talk.

"Was this too much?" Grissom asked as he helped her settle into bed.

"No, no," insisted Sara. "It helped me make a decision." Sara took Grissom's hand and tucked it against her cheek. "I can't stay here, Gil." Tears welled in her eyes. "I know it would be best for Little Bean, but I don't think I can do it—reduced to seeing Will for just minutes a day. He's a baby—the next few weeks will be the last I have to spend with him—just him. After Little Bean gets here, he won't remember being the only one!"

After the agonizing hours during Sara's surgery and recovery, Grissom needed no explanation; he would do whatever she desired. "We'll be fine, Sara. It's the right decision—Little Bean will be fine." He leaned over and kissed her. "Don't cry—I'll get her room painted before you come home. We'll get what we need—whatever happens we can handle it."

His wife smiled and kept his hand in hers. We can deal with this, he thought, one day at a time. He could not think about the babies he had seen downstairs—tiny premature infants with eyes covered, with oxygen being pushed into lungs too small to breathe on their own.

"We need to pick out a name," Sara whispered.

He grinned. "I thought you had decided."

She rolled onto her back and patted the space beside her. "Close the door and get in bed with me," Sara said, and then laughed at his expression. "I just want you beside me for a while—we certainly can't do anything but talk—and sleep."

After closing the door and removing his shoes, he crawled onto the bed. It took them a few minutes to settle in as Grissom wrapped an arm around Sara and she relaxed against his shoulder.

"Will we ever get back to normal, Gil?"

He chuckled. "I'm not sure we've ever been normal, dear. But one day we'll look back at this and—and know how fortunate we are."

Sara's fingers stroked gently across her husband's chest. "You don't think I'm being selfish by wanting to go home? I just can't stay here—I feel like I'm in a cage!"

"Honey, we'll manage. We've got good friends—Will thinks Nick and Greg are his best playmates! And Jim has something to do other than—other than whatever he does in retirement!" He placed his hand over hers. "And I've already gotten family leave from the university—for six months."

Sara protested, "No, Gil! All your research! You can't postpone things for that long!"

He turned his head so he could kiss her and then said, "It will wait. Most of it will wait," he chuckled, "there are four grad students very excited to take over."

Suddenly, Sara laughed. She took his hand and placed it on her belly. Grissom could feel the warmth of her skin and then the baby started to kick—so hard and with enough force that he could feel a form.

"Is that her foot? Or an elbow?" His hand pressed against Sara's belly. "This amazes me," he said as he kept his hand on Sara.

"She knows you are here," Sara said. She laced her fingers with his. "I'm glad you're here—I sleep better with you."

Grissom held her as she snuggled against him, her hip to his pelvis, her shoulder tucked into his arm. He said, "I've missed you, wife."

Quietly, they stayed together. Just as Sara's breathing indicated she was drifting to sleep, there was a soft knock on the door. Grissom groaned as he extradited his arm and struggled to get out of bed. Sara woke instantly when he moved.

Mumbling, she said, "I want to go home, Gil—these guys won't leave us alone."

Grissom gained his standing, awkward and stiff from laying in bed, and did a cramped limp across the floor to the door, forgetting his shoes, never crossing his mind that nursing staff would have knocked and entered without waiting.

Opening the door, he was surprised to see a young man holding an elaborately wrapped gift in one hand and a pot of bright pink Gerber daisies in the other. He had no idea who the man was or how he had managed to wangle his way past check-points and nursing stations to find Sara's room. The young man was attempting to hold gift and flowers in one hand when Grissom reached out his hand.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The young man blushed. "I'm Sam—Sam Gemma. The new coroner on days—I was with Sara…"

Immediately, Grissom opened the door, "Come in! Come in! Nick mentioned you might come by," he said, taking the flowers and extending his hand. "It's good to put a face with your name."

Sara was sitting up by the time Grissom turned, her face a vision of sleepy confusion; he could have sworn young Sam turned a brighter shade of pink—his face almost matching his daisies—by the time he handed Sara the gift. And, not for the first time, Grissom thought his wife was the most beautiful woman in the world—instantly, he realized Sam Gemma thought so too.

"Oh, Sam!" She exclaimed, obviously happy to see him. "I owe you my life, I believe," she said with a laugh as she pulled him toward her and gave him a quick hug.

Grissom moved another chair near the bed. "Sit," he said, and placed the flowers on a small table with several other plants.

"Pink daisies! Thank you," Sara said. "We have a small flower garden where they will be perfect!"

Sam smiled as Sara ran a fingernail along the wrapping paper of his gift. Quietly, he said, "I—I hope it's not too soon."

Quickly, Sara pushed paper aside. "Oh, Sam—this is beautiful!" Sara lifted a very small infant dress, pale green trimmed in tiny rows of lace and decorated with gathered tucks and diminutive roses in pale pink. The dress was so delicate and dainty, almost weightless in her hands; she held it to her face and thought it must feel like a cloud.

She said, "Thank you, Sam! Little Bean will be beautiful wearing this!" She saw his confusion. "Little Bean is what we're calling her," she laughed. "We haven't decided on a name."

Sam, a visitor who knew hospital visits should be short, did not stay long. Grissom and Sara expressed sincere appreciation for his quick actions in getting a helicopter for her; he accepted their thanks and related his previous experience working with medical emergencies.

"For four years, I worked in the back of medi-evac," he gave a soft laugh, "saw my share of everything—too often too late. So I knew how to get them moving," he chuckled again, "and with a pregnant woman, there's no time to wait."

As he left, Sara asked him to visit her again. "At home," she said. "I won't be doing much for several weeks," she patted her belly, "but waiting."

Grissom noticed the pink flush returned to Sam's face. He added, "Please come by—you can meet the third little Grissom, our son, Will."

_A/N: We appreciate hearing from you-thank you for your comments and reviews._


	10. Chapter 10

A/N:_ Thank you for reading! Keeping with our belief that GSR is forever! _

**Needing You**

**Chapter 10**

Finally, with two nurses helping her, Sara was ready for discharge. It had not been easy and, already exhausted, she really wanted to crawl back into the hospital bed and sleep for the rest of the day. But she put a smile on her face and joined in the chit chat about leaving the hospital, knowing if she mentioned her tiredness, the efforts aimed at discharge would immediately be reversed.

She still had twenty-two metal staples in her head—a few more days, the neurosurgeon said as he checked her prior to discharge, before those came out. Attached to her belly were six small circles to monitor her heart beat, the baby's heart beat, position, and movement, and uterine contractions. Every four hours, she would plug a small machine into her computer and transmit the information to the obstetrician's office. Before sleeping, she would attach herself to another monitor which sent real-time data to a medical service office.

"At night," the physician explained, "is when we get the best information. When your body's at rest is when we usually detect the beginning of labor. You will probably get a call early one morning to come in."

Along with the monitoring, Sara was scheduled for two office appointments every week. "I'm hoping you can make it another three weeks, Sara," the obstetrician said. "Little bean is growing—if she can get to four pounds, I don't think she'll have to stay in the NICU very long."

As she was rolled to the waiting car, Sara realized she did not know how many days she had been in the hospital. She closed her eyes, tilted her head skyward, and let the breeze tickle her face. She felt an enormous sense of calm descend as she heard Grissom's voice as he spoke to the woman pushing the wheelchair. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath; her smile came easily as her husband helped her into the car and fastened the seat belt.

Sara knew every convenient route to their house; today, her husband drove scenic streets, winding their way through one of the oldest neighborhoods in Las Vegas to their home.

As they drove, Sara had laced her fingers with Grissom's. They had no need to talk; Grissom sensed Sara desired quietness as she adjusted to life outside of four walls. And he wanted a few minutes alone with his wife before they reached home and all the activity going on.

Sara said, "I'm so happy we have our house." She lifted his hand and kissed each finger. "It suits us now—even with everyone there," she laughed, "its home."

"I couldn't keep them away—they have been such good friends through all of this—and all of them want to help." He chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips. "They've promised to leave in thirty minutes—there's enough food for a small army. Will thinks its great fun to have so much company." He had not bothered to tell her of all the new toys added to Will's collection; she would see those soon enough.

Instead, he said, "Nick and DB did a great job on painting the baby's room. The crib is up and Catherine and her mother put up cute window things—like a short curtain over the blinds. And my mother has been in charge of food—I think everyone in the lab brought over something to eat."

Grissom slowed to a stop. "If you think you're ready…"

"I am," Sara smiled and touched his face, "I'm so happy to be home—I know things could have been so much—ended differently—so I'm thrilled to celebrate with our friends." Her voice cracked with emotion. She blinked away tears. "I'll try not to cry in front of everyone."

But with Grissom practically holding her upright, her vow was quickly retracted when she entered her home. Nick and Greg, Catherine and her mother, Lily, Betty and Jim, who was holding Will, were laughing and crying at the same time, hugging her, saying words of welcome. Somehow she managed to sit down and Will was placed in her lap. Keeping their promise, everyone was gone within thirty minutes—Betty disappeared into the kitchen, Jim and her husband were talking near the front door as the others slipped away.

Tears filled her eyes as she realized how much she had missed her son; his little hands played across her face and tickled her chin; he babbled dozens of sounds and played hide-and-seek by burying his face against her shoulder and giggling as she pretended to hunt for him, all while they remained on the sofa. As quickly as his play had started, Will suddenly scrambled from Sara's lap and ran across the room to several colorful plastic boxes. Sara remembered two boxes—now she counted five as Will tipped over one box and picked up two toys.

Holding toy airplanes in each hand, Will ran around the room making zooming sounds until he landed both planes beside his mother before he ran back to another box, turned it over, and rolled a large yellow truck across the floor.

Jim and Grissom returned to the room; neither sat down as Will pushed his truck to Sara's feet. She looked at the two men.

"It would appear Will's toys have multiplied," she said, laughing. "And to think, I worried that he would miss me!"

Will parked his truck next to his mother and ran back to his toys. "Ba! Ba!" he yelled as he upended a third box of toys.

Jim Brass stuck his thumb in Will's direction. "I'm being paged," he said with a chuckle.

Betty Grissom appeared, juggling two steaming bowls of pasta in her hands. She placed bowls on the table and signed, "Cheese ravioli, pine nuts, and Gorgonzola," and waved for Sara to come to the table as she disappeared again into the kitchen.

Grissom extended his hand and helped her to stand. "Eat, then bed," he said.

The food gave her strength—gone was the intense exhaustion and the overwhelming desire to sleep, replaced by a calmness brought on by being surrounded by four people who loved her. Her first thought was to rest—as her husband had suggested—but she realized he would be willing to do as she asked.

"I want to sit in the yard for a while," she said as she finished her pasta.

When she and Grissom had decided to buy a house—leave the condo they had called their first home—several months before Will had arrived, they had no firm ideas for where they wanted to live. Until Catherine visited and suggested her neighborhood.

"Not historical in the sense of history in other cities, but this neighborhood is a Vegas original—lots of young families, big yards—and all of us want people who will honor the original intent. No tear-downs or McMansions—and we have several beautiful parks within walking distance of every house."

Sara and Grissom had known they had found their home the minute they had seen the backyard. The rest of it fell into place as easily as a well-fitted glove. Surprising, both of them, they found enjoyment working to create their own garden—after Will arrived, they had added a swing and grassy play area—but everything else was local plants, a planned desert of primrose, poppies, forget-me-nots, buttercup, desert lily, and marigolds provided a carpet of yellow, white, and purple among carefully placed rocks.

After they finished the meal, Grissom supported Sara as she walked into the back yard; Jim Brass followed with a babbling Will who took the shortest path to his swing.

"It's so good to be outside." Sara said as she walked along the gravel path that wove around plants that had flowered weeks ago.

Grissom kept an arm securely around her waist as they walked. "It sounds like we're going to need another swing—I don't think Will is going to give that one up anytime soon," he said as delighted squeals came from the little boy.

Suddenly, teary-eyed, Sara said, "I can't pick him up, Gil. I can't put him in his swing!"

Grissom guided her to a bench. "We've got that worked out—Jim is going to take him to play school and pick him up. That leaves me free to take you to appointments. And I'll be here all the time or Jim or my mom will be here."

When she sighed and wiped her eyes, he continued, "You've got to accept help, Sara. We agreed to this. Jim is thrilled to help this way."

She nodded as exhaustion returned. She said, "I need to rest—and make a list."

"Of what?"

Sara laughed. "A thousand things, Gil." When he frowned, she added, "I need a few things and I want a hair cut as soon as these staples come out. And," she squeezed his arm, "we need to decide on a name."

Grissom assisted her to stand and nodded toward the patio to more comfortable chairs. He said, "You decide—you know what I don't want-Gilly." He made a face that caused her to laugh.

Much later, after Betty and Jim left and the small family were finally alone in a quiet house, Will showed his mother how he had missed her as his bedtime came and he refused to be quieted when put into his crib. Finally, unable to stand his cries, Grissom brought his son into their bed.

"We've not done this in months," Grissom said as he placed the smiling baby beside Sara.

Sara snuggled with the little boy, who babbled and laughed, in the crook of her arm and quickly quieted. "I'm glad to know he has missed me—and I don't care if he sleeps with us for the next three years!"

Grissom crawled into bed and Will wiggled so he was cross-ways between his parents, his head against Sara, his feet propped on his dad's chest. Grissom laughed. "Little buddy, we have a problem!" He turned his sleepy son's body.

Laughing, Sara rolled to her side. "I think this was the reason we moved him months ago!"

Father and son quickly slept, but in the cool darkness, Sara watched. Grissom's hand lay on little Will's chest; her fingers were laced with his to have the physical touch of the two people she loved more than life. Sara moved closer to her son. Will was perfection in a way she had never imagined—a part of her yet not her. After his birth, she had spent hours discovering and memorizing every part of him—almost unbelieving she had grown this soft, fair infant in her body. Will was his father's child with a happy pink smile, a musical laugh—and she had been surprised at how her love grew for her husband and for his child.

Within months of Will's birth, Sara knew her son needed a sibling—there was too much attention centered around one little boy—and in a few months, she knew they had succeeded. It had taken so long to decide to have one baby, the decision for a second one came easily—and conception occurred as quickly.

As if a signal had been given, Sara felt her baby girl move—healthy, growing, developing—and she smiled.

She untangled her hand and touched her husband's face in a light caress. When his eyes opened, his gaze locked with hers, she knew she was loved in an intimate, indescribable way. Anchored, solid, real.

Grissom moved his hand to touch her belly, gently stroking her tight flesh. He smiled, "Everything is fine, Sara," he said, sighing as he shifted slightly so his feet found hers. His eyes closed again in sleep as her palm cuddled his face.

_A/N: Thank you for reading-and especially for your reviews and comments! More to come!_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: For several reasons, this chapter was delayed! Enjoy!_

**Needing You**

**Chapter 11**

The back yard was neat and appeared under-planted if compared to many older gardens; yet it was somehow different from most gardens and landscapes in the area. A tea rose flowed up and over a trellis; lavender and rosemary lined zigzag paths. An apple tree, the oldest plant in the yard, provided fruit and shade for a play area. In the center of the yard, beside a large agave, a sturdy wooden bench sat by a stone birdbath. On close observation, the birdbath was the most ornate object in the yard with its base decorated with tangling vines and the bowl embellished with colorful tiles forming butterflies and moths found in a Costa Rican rainforest.

Any visitor who walked into the yard stared in amazement realizing the growth could not have come naturally yet nothing looked designed or intentional. Even the basil and squash plants appeared spontaneous; pots were hidden or blended into the landscape to be almost invisible.

The sun was high yet the heat on Sara's arms and across the back of her neck made her feel more alive than hot. Plants had pulled her through more than one difficult period in her life, Sara thought as she stripped a seed pod, her fingers releasing the tiny seeds into her palm. She rolled the dark specks into a labeled paper envelope and reached for another pod.

Sara had always had a plant, or two, as far back as she wanted to remember—usually an easy to care for living thing that belonged to her. Through her college years—even before—some kind of greenery had been growing in her room. She thought no one noticed—and no one had until Gil Grissom. Sending her a plant—vegetation he called it—when she had made a serious threat to quit her job.

Smiling, she looked around the backyard. His original plant was now half a dozen.

Her mother-in-law, making a fresh start, had given her another plant—a violet—and in the long, lonely days when her husband had lived abroad, Sara had filled their home with plants—living things that she cared for with meticulous detail so she did not have to think of what was happening in the rest of her life. For months she had lived that way.

Most of the time, Sara almost forgot those dark days. She glanced toward the house where her husband and Jim Brass sat on the shaded patio; Will was playing nearby. She had realized the events in early 2013 had actually served to keep her in her job, even after Grissom returned and after Will was born.

Grissom waved at her; she circled a finger and thumb into an "okay" sign.

Sara had been home for a week—carefully walking on eggshells until yesterday. The neurosurgeon had pulled the stables from her head, giving her a surprising light-headedness and a list of "Don't do this" for another six weeks.

"What can I do?" she asked.

Seriously, the physician had said, "Having a baby is enough." When she had made a grimacing frown, he laughingly said, "Pick some flowers!" Which had extended into a cheerfully optimistic discussion of her yard. He had approved her use of scissors and sitting on a garden stool while she plucked seed pods and propagated a few small plants. But nothing else.

The second appointment— her obstetrician had not been so easy-going or as cheerful. Medications to prevent early labor were not working well. The high-tech monitoring indicated preterm labor and a check for fetal fibronectin was positive; in a few days, their daughter would be born, premature, and placed in the intense care unit. And there wasn't anything to stop the process. Sara had heard and understood but some things could not be comprehended until it actually happened. After seeing the infants in NICU, she still had a mental detachment that her infant daughter would be among them.

The plants provided a distraction. She shifted on her garden stool to reach another seed cluster. At the same moment, the baby stretched against Sara's abdomen so she could feel the edge of a small foot. Softly, she said, "Don't be getting so rambunctious, little bean." Rubbing her belly, she took a deep breath.

Another week, she pleaded, silently, another week.

From their chairs on the shaded patio, Sara's husband and their long time friend watched her. Already, Jim Brass had asked if Sara should be working in the garden.

Grissom had explained, "It doesn't matter. There's nothing—she's done exactly what all the physicians ordered—it's a consequence of the surgery and the medications. We're fortunate for every twenty-four hours that pass."

Quietly, the two men talked as Will played with a toy car. With the ease of familiarity of long time friends, they mentioned past, present, and future events, interrupted by the small boy, returning to their conversation, often finishing the other's sentence.

Jim chuckled as Will ran his toy around the edge of a low table, making appropriate sounds of a car. "You know you nearly lost this," Jim said, waving a hand toward the toddler and to Sara. Not for the first time, he asked, "What were you thinking?"

His face contorting with real pain, Grissom shook his head. Every six months or so, often while sharing drinks, his good friend reminded him of a very dark and bleak time when he had forgotten he was a husband.

"Don't remind me."

Jim Brass smiled, one that showed he was well pleased with himself. "I'm here to remind you," he chuckled. "You're a lucky man, Gil. More chances than a cat has lives."

The little boy ran around the table to his father, jabbering about his car.

As he picked up his son, Grissom leaned back in his chair. "I've always known I needed her—always. Got her to Vegas because I needed her. Went to Costa Rica because I needed her." He laughed as Will rolled the car up his arm and under the sleeve of his shirt.

The boy giggled. "Car bye-bye, Daddy," he said, followed by a delighted laugh as the car reappeared in his hand. The disappearing act was repeated several times and in several variations as the child played in his father's lap.

"It took a while for me to realize Sara needed me as much as I needed her." He paused; his face seemed to darken with thoughts. "She said it in a hundred ways, but in my usual-thick-headed mindset, I never heard what she really needed and wanted—not until—not until all that happened. Even then, she was so darn independent—saying she was fine. You know how she is."

Grissom took a few minutes to play with Will before continuing, "I guess I would have gone on—moving from one place to another, hunting for something—the great discovery…"

"When that something was here," Jim finished.

"Yes, it was," Grissom said, patting his son's diapered bottom as the little boy wiggled away and ran toward his mother.

The two men watched as Sara handed Will a plant leaf and showed him something that caused the toddler to laugh.

Quietly, Grissom said, "We've decided on a name for the baby."

Interested, Jim lifted his eyebrows.

"Sara says Nick has saved her twice."He hesitated a moment, adding "She doesn't know he called me after—after that stalker—after all of that. He actually saved us," clearing his throat in an attempt to cover a well-guarded secret, adding "Sara doesn't know about that. So we're using Nicholas."

When Jim Brass shot his eyebrows skyward, Grissom chuckled. "Nicole—the female version! Not Nick!"

Jim raked a hand across his face, silently laughing. "Nick will love that. That's sweet."

"Yeah, Sara says Nicole will be the middle name—she's decided on another one for a first name."

When Grissom said the name, a surprised look crossed Jim Brass' face and stayed there for several minutes. The older man wiped fingers across his eyes.

Grissom chuckled, "I knew that would get you—now, don't say a word! Sara wants to be the one to announce it. She has her reasons."

The rest of the week passed quickly. Friends visited, bringing food, books, and gifts for Will. Sara left it for Grissom to deal with everyone; she played with and told stories to Will, sang to both of her children, pushed food into her mouth when she wasn't hungry, and stayed outside as much as possible.

One afternoon, Grissom disappeared for a while and returned with a heavy paper wrapped package. After selecting a place in the yard, he unwrapped a concrete figure—a little statuette for their yard—a small boy wearing a hat, holding a rabbit. Will was thrilled to give his name to the garden sculpture.

Sara approved. "What about a girl?" She asked.

Grissom had not gotten a girl figurine for reasons he could not voice, but said "There were too many—I can't decide until Little Bean gets here and we know her personality!"

Both parents laughed as Will danced around the statue stopping to 'pat' the stone rabbit held in the figure's hands.

"It does look like Will," Sara agreed.

Before the words were out of her mouth, the small monitor she wore began beeping. As she and Grissom stared, first at the usually silent palm-sized device, her phone rang.

"It's time for you to come in," an unknown voice said after Sara answered the phone. "Come prepared for delivery."

After all this time, after almost constant worry since she woke from brain surgery, it was time to return to the hospital. Sara blinked away tears and reached for her son.

Picking him up, she heard the beginning of a protest from her husband. "It doesn't matter now, Gil," she said. She hugged the little boy tightly and turned to walk into the house.

Grissom placed his hand on her back and hugged her. "It's going to be fine, Sara."

She nodded.

As Grissom leaned toward her and kissed her temple, she did the same to her son.

_A/N: We re-wrote some of this chapter to reflect on Season 13 and "Forget Me Not". We'll never believe GSR has ended! Never! Some events on FB have made us cautious - but so it goes with 'social network' netiquette! Thanks to all who read and provide positive comments to us. _

_This story isn't over and neither is GSR! Not on fanfiction!_


	12. Chapter 12

A/N:_ Thanks for reading! Remember, as long as you read fanfiction, GSR is alive and well!_

**Needing You**

**Chapter 12**

When Will was born, Sara had been at home until she went into labor; she and Grissom had experienced the methodical flurry of labor and delivery with a surprised enjoyment. She had experienced the euphoria of motherhood claiming a place in her heart, had watched as her husband had been brought to tears as he held his son. Nurses had learned her name instantly and intimately; her physician came and went with happy and encouraging words. And after a few hours of labor, Will had arrived—the most beautiful baby Sara had ever seen—and had immediately smitten both parents.

This was a different experience—a tightly scripted plan that had swelled to include several neuro specialists and a NICU team. Sara was prepped and cleaned, stuck with tubes and IVs, tested and monitored from head to hip, draped and screened for the surgical delivery of her baby. She thought it was unusually quiet when compared to her previous experience of childbirth.

Grissom, dressed in a blue gown that matched his eyes, managed to find a place for his hand to rest against her cheek. And he kept talking as he tried to distract her from all that was going on.

Finally, after all of the preparations, procedures and processes, Sara heard someone say "She's ready."

Her doctor said, "Sara, are you ready to meet your daughter?" And before she could reply with more than "yes", she actually felt a slight tug followed by a collective satisfying sound from the people around her.

Grissom whispered, "She's here!"

An unusual quietness, even more so than before, seemed to last for long minutes before the obstetrician said, "Cleaning out her airway—just another minute."

Grissom had risen to a standing position to see over the screen and Sara realized everything was okay because of the crinkles at his smiling eyes. And then she heard a cry, sounding more like a kitten than a baby, but a definite cry, and very quickly her small pink daughter was placed on her chest. Her fingers touched skin that felt like soft silk, petal soft. Her husband's hands easily cradled the tiny infant.

Sara pulled the baby closer to her face, taking in the scent of human life in its beginning. "Don't be frightened!" She softly crooned; her only thoughts centered on how small and fragile the baby looked. Then the baby's eyes blinked open—large, glacial blue.

"Oh, she's looking at us, Gil—as curious about us as we are about her."

For a few minutes, Sara was aware only of her own voice and that of her husband as they gently and carefully examined their new-born daughter, saying the words of every joyful parent.

Very cautiously, Grissom took a small hand between his fingers and kissed his daughter, the top of her head, her forehead.

"We'll need to take her for a few minutes," someone said. Gloves hands gently lifted the baby from Sara's chest. "I'll bring her right back. Do you have a name picked out?"

Grissom smiled; Sara said their chosen name.

"That's a beautiful name!" The nurse said with a smile as she took the small baby with her.

With her daughter across the room, Sara realized how tired she felt. Suddenly, without warning, her head dropped back; she could hardly keep her eyes open. She heard Grissom, concern in his voice as he asked what was happening.

A male voice said, "She's fine—just a little dip in blood pressure. Breathe, Sara, are you breathing?"

"I'm fine," she whispered. "Just a little excited." Within seconds, she was no longer weak as a mask was fitted over her nose and mouth. Waves of euphoria returned. She smiled. "We have our family, Gil—a son and a daughter." Then she started to cry.

The clock on the wall said it was after two in the morning but Grissom had not slept. He was stretched comfortably on a firm sofa in his wife's room while she slept. Peaceful at last, he thought. He knew the weeks since her surgery had taken a toll but only today, after their daughter was born, did he see her face regain its natural happiness.

A few visitors had come—his mother, Catherine, Jim Brass, Nick, and Greg—all smiling members of a proud family. Will was being well cared for—Greg and Nick admitted to buying the little boy another sit-upon toy.

"It looks like a bug!" Greg announced as he showed photographs of Will sitting astride something that slightly resembled a lady bug.

Grissom said, "We'll need another one of these before long."

Nick's chest swelled a bit as he said, "Don't you worry about my little namesake—her Uncle Nick will make sure she doesn't lack for any toy!"

When Jim Brass came, a smile spread across his face as he presented Sara with two small boxes. He said, "For our little gem and her mother."

Inside one box was a small gold locket enameled with a very meticulous design of a child on a swing. Even in its diminutive size, the colors were bright—a blue sky, brilliantly green blades of grass and the little figure in gold.

"It's beautiful, Jim!" Sara exclaimed as she held it between her hands.

He leaned forward and kissed her. "It's not every day I can claim a namesake, is it."

Sara took his face between her hands. "You don't mind sharing?"

He chuckled. "I'm happy to share with young Sam. He's going to be thrilled—does he know yet?"

Sara laughed, saying "No, but I've written him a letter." She frowned, "You don't think he'll be upset? Because I didn't ask."

With a chuckle, Jim handed her the second gift. "Sam is going to be in heaven," he said, glancing around to Grissom at the foot of the bed. "Your husband doesn't know about the crush, does he?"

The two men laughed as Sara unwrapped the box finding a similar locket, with another miniature enameled landscape of two golden children playing in a field of flowers, a dazzling sunset sky as background.

"These are beautiful, Jim! Where did you find something so perfect?"

Grissom came to her and fastened the gold chain around her neck.

"I have a friend who makes things like this," Jim said. At the look of surprise on Grissom's face, he added, "I have friends, Gil, some very artistic ones. Not everyone I know totes a gun, you know!" He lifted the locket away from Sara's chest. "And there is a flower for every year I've known you—my friend thought you would like that."

Deciding to leave the room, Grissom attempted to be quiet as he rose from the sofa. He slipped his shoes on, checked on Sara, and left the room. The hallway was quiet—he was sure there was someone having a baby nearby, but this section was reserved for mothers who did not keep their babies with them—there were almost no sounds as he walked. Around a corner and he arrived at a set of windows.

Several nurses were working in the darkened nursery; his daughter was not the only one who needed special care. There was a set of twins, three infants much smaller than his and another much larger baby—he held up a small identifying device and one of the nurses moved to an incubator. She motioned for him to enter.

After covering his clothes with a gown, he went into the parents waiting room, surprised to find it empty, and used the identity device to open another door. Earlier the nurses had spent time orienting he and Sara to visiting procedures—"no rules" the woman explained, "but we have flexible guidelines we have to follow."

As he waited, he looked around at this very precisely controlled environment. The walls were covered with colorful characters but there was no disguising the technology involved in caring for these infants; machines operated with a quiet whispering rhythm, the nurses were almost silent as they worked.

"Here she is," the nurse said. "She's one of our best, you know." Carefully, she placed a bundle much larger than his daughter in his arms. The woman smiled. "It's easier to hold her when she's wrapped up like this."

She showed him how to hold the infant against his chest, telling him "Relax, she won't break and she'll love the feel and sound of her dad." Softly, she asked, "Do you sing?"

Grissom shook his head, not in public, he thought. Not around strangers.

"Then talk to her—tell her stories, just so she hears your voice."

He could talk; he held the tiny baby against his chest and stroked his hand over her head and along her back; protectively, lovingly, and quietly he began to tell her of the world she had entered, where she was welcomed, already loved. He began speaking of her brother who would not remember a time without his sister, of her sweet mother who loved with such furious compassion, of a grandmother who lived in silence but lived so fully.

He closed his eyes and listened to the rhythm of the infant's breathing; she'd fallen to sleep.

The next day, Sara managed to walk around the same corner, entered the waiting area, and sat in a rock before taking her daughter from her husband's hands. Holding the newborn, she felt utterly possessive of the small, helpless baby, differently from the way she had felt holding Will who was so strong and robust at his birth, she thought. Sara smiled; she loved her children in a way that she had never imagined was possible and in these first hours together, she knew bliss, a simple harmony with the world around her.

Grissom slipped an arm around her and kissed her. "Are you okay?" He asked. "We'll have to leave her here—she won't be able to go home with us."

She knew and accepted this fact of a premature birth. Sara's voice was quiet, steady. "I'm fine, Gil. Really, I am." She smiled at him and then looked at the small face wrapped in blankets. "We're going to be fine—all of us." Her fingers reached for the small hand wiggling from underneath the blanket. "Look at what we've made—isn't she beautiful," softly, she laughed. "I'm in love, dear—for the third time in my life." Her finger touched the baby's chin. "And look at this little dimple—just like her father's."

Later in the day, flowers and a note came from the young coroner expressing his surprise and pleasure over Sara's choice of a name for the baby.

After reading the note, Sara asked for the official forms to register her daughter's name. She grinned, "Are you having second thoughts?" She asked. When he shook his head, she printed her daughter's name on the form as 'Gemma Nicole Grissom'. She and Grissom signed the form. "It's official," Sara said.

"It's a perfect name," Grissom said with a chuckle. "Only a few hours old and she has three men wrapped around her very small finger." Raking a hand across his face, he smiled as he realized his mistake. "Make that four men."

For three days and nights, Sara remained with little Gemma. One of the nurses made a crafty name sign for Gemma's incubator that included a photo of Will and her parents.

Brought to the hospital by Betty and Nick, Will was much more interested in showing off his new cowboy boots than in seeing babies through a window. The toddler danced and frolicked in Sara's room using the floor as a stage for clicking the heels of his boots as parents, grandmother, and his best friend, 'Ick' laughed.

When the time came for Sara's discharge, going home without her baby proved to be difficult; a tight aching knot grew in her chest, tears formed in her eyes. But, hurriedly, she untied it, wiped her eyes and forced a smile on her face. Grissom assured her they would return in a few hours as they placed the baby back in the incubator.

Sara looked at her baby, the perfect little face, tiny ears pressed neatly against her head, and the small, almost transparent, fingers that startled occasionally at the sensation of air passing between them. Suddenly, Gemma's lips pursed in an expression that appeared to be thoughtful, as if she had something to say.

Grissom laughed so quickly that it caused the nurses to look at him. His arm was already wrapped around Sara as he tightened his grip. Knowing why he laughed, Sara elbowed him. He said, "How many times have I seen that look?" He leaned over the small baby and chuckled. "You are your mother's child, dear Gemma!"

The complicated threads of life plaited slowly back together as an orderly routine was established in the Grissom home. At first, they went together to visit their baby girl, but soon learned other parents divided the responsibility, shared it with others, so that by the second week, when little Gemma reached the required weight for discharge, they found it easy to embrace the completion of their family from three to four.

_A/N: Now, that you know Little Bean's name- review! We'd like to know if the CSI writers have really killed GSR! If so, what next for Sara?_


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Thank you for reading!_

**Needing You**

**Chapter 13**

_A few years later; a national park in Costa Rica:_

For three weeks, weather had been exceptionally perfect with rain holding off until night fall most days, a brilliant sun and clear sky providing an ideal backdrop for a first introduction to the spectacular biodiversity of Costa Rica—rainforests, volcanoes, and beaches on both coasts had been a part of learning about the country where the Grissoms would live for a year. Frogs, butterflies, birds, and an occasional monkey had delighted and intrigued the children, just as their parents had known; just as it had been for Grissom and Sara years ago.

The children and their father were descending into a small valley; billowing clouds appeared to tip into the valley giving their destination the appearance of a lush green bowl trimmed in white. The damp ground and occasional puddle along the path was no impediment to the two children; all three were well-prepared for a trek along a well-marked trail.

"We're almost there!" Grissom called to the two small children running ahead.

The young boy, more earnest with an intense desire to please than his younger sister, stopped his pell-mell run and shouted for his sister to do the same.

"Stop, Gem! Daddy says we are almost there!"

His sister, named Gemma, but given the nickname of "Gem" within days of her birth by her godfather and surrogate grandfather, propelled herself off the path and into a meadow of bright wildflowers. Her arms waved in circles as she ran through flowers nearly as tall as her head. Her nature was one of spontaneous inquisitiveness, very much in opposition to the quiet and subtle curiosity of her brother. Within days of her birth, her father's quote of Shakespeare's "Though she be but little, she is fierce" had correctly predicted her personality.

Fluttering among the flowers, pretending to be a butterfly, the little girl, dark-haired with startling blue eyes, picked her way back up the hill and burst onto the path, giggling, as her father caught up with her.

"I'm here, Daddy!" She said, followed with another giggle as she took her father's hand. "Did you see me being a butterfly?" She hopped and skipped in the manner children often use when walking with an adult. "How will we know when we get there?"

Amused, Gil Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Your mom and I could never forget, Gem."

Over time, the place had changed; years before, this area—the meadow—had been home to temporary shelters built to house researchers. All that had been removed—replaced by the modern sustainable and environmentally green buildings where the family was living. And nature was gradually reclaiming the area.

"Did Mom walk all this way in a wedding dress with a long white skirt?" The little girl let go of her dad's hand, plucked the edges of her shirt and held it out in a mimicking gesture of holding a long dress.

Grissom laughed. "No, she didn't. She wore a dress prettier than any white wedding dress you've ever seen."

Will added, "Mommy is beautiful every day, isn't she, Dad?"

"Yes, she is!" Grissom placed his hand on top of the hat-clad boy's head. A stranger meeting man and boy would immediately recognize the two as father and son by appearance, mannerisms, and personality.

It had surprised Grissom to discover that he enjoyed his children's company; they made him see things differently, in a way that brought new life to his thoughts. Their frequent questions as to what he was doing and why required him to explain things he had long ago forgotten to appreciate.

"Why are we walking the long way, Daddy?" Will asked as he skipped alongside his sister.

"Is Mommy going to bring a picnic for all of us?" Gem asked, taking her father's hand again.

"Of course, she will. And we walked the long way so we could see all the birds and flowers." He stretched his free hand to his son. "And how many parrots did you count?"

He got two different answers and then the children over talked each other telling where each parrot had been seen.

The three followed the path around a large tree, leaving the hillside meadow, as the children talked about birds—they had seen a swallow-tailed kite, a flock of colorful parakeets, and a Coppery-headed Emerald hummingbird. The day before, while the children had been on a canopy tour with other children, Grissom and Sara had watched a lek of fifty hummingbirds perform a showy dance across the hillside. At the time the area had been quiet for hours; today, they had about four minutes of quiet in thirty second intervals during the entire walk.

Softly, Grissom laughed at the chattering of his son and daughter. Less than two years between their births, they were exceptionally close siblings, and as they had grown, they had developed a mutually beneficial relationship. Will's natural hesitation was often outweighed by his sister's impetuous and sunny disposition and from the time Gemma could walk, they were a team. Smiling to himself, Grissom shook his head—opposites in thoughts and actions yet complimentary—what one could not think of, the other did.

Stepping across a trickling stream, they made a final turn of the path and arrived at a lush, grassy clearing surrounded by blooming flowers, low-growing ferns, and thriving native trees. Across the lawn was a long wooden building with overhanging porches on three sides. For years the building had served as a visitors center, a hostel, park offices, and general headquarters, and now served as a collection library for research work done in the natural park.

"We're here! We're here!" Gem shouted as she bounced around her father. "Is this really where you and Mom got married?"

Grissom had laughed more since having children than he had in five decades before their arrival and today, he laughed as he answered Gem's question. "Yes, we did, dear. Up there on the porch."

"Were there lots of people—and lots of flowers? I want lots of flowers when I get married," the little girl declared. "And a long white dress."

Grissom had no idea how a five-year old came to make decisions and plans for an event years in the future but he said, "Your mom had flowers in her hair—orchids—and I held her hand all morning."

Will had remained quiet until now. Hopping up and down beside his father, he joined in, "You were afraid, weren't you, Dad! You didn't want to lose her again," he said before breaking out in high pitched giggles. "You came all this way to find her and you didn't want her to run into the rainforest!"

"Look who's coming around the building," Grissom announced.

The kids let go of his hands and ran up the sloping yard toward their mother. He waved. The children knew their parents romance story by heart and never tired of hearing their father tell of traveling to the rainforest to find the woman he loved. And today they were visiting the site of this story; as Gem said "the place where Mommy finally said 'yes'!"

Smiling, Grissom shifted his backpack and ambled up the hill. Sara, hair tied back in a ponytail, appearing at least ten years younger than her true age, returned his wave with a hand holding a cloth bag. There was a lively spirit to her wave, a radiance to her entire body. He stopped and watched as the children ran to her, their obvious excitement and energy returned with Sara's gestures and expressions. Deep below his waist, desire rose, surprising him in its intensity. He rearranged his pants, quickly thinking of his two young children and cold water instead of the quiet meadow the day before.

There was a picnic blanket, another bag, and a cooler already on the ground near the building.

He called to Sara, "Anything else?"

"All here!"

The children took the bags she carried; the weight and bulky contents slowed their pace a little and by the time Grissom arrived at the blanket, they were pulling bananas and mangos from one bag while their mother unpacked the rest of the meal.

"You brought enough for an army," he said as his wife unpacked containers of beans and rice, tortillas, boiled eggs, cheese and tomatoes.

"Use a spoon, please," she said to Will as he dipped a tortilla into the bowl of beans. "It's just as beautiful here as the day we married," she said and then laughed. "I think the road was better! Today, it's barely a two-track trail."

Grissom rolled a tortilla around a banana and handed it to Gem. "There you go—a banana in a blanket!" His daughter giggled as she accepted her picnic lunch. "With the internet, I guess there isn't much need for anyone to drive back here now." He piled beans and rice on a tortilla. He chuckled, saying "It was such a busy place then."

Sara leaned over and kissed him, causing her two children to giggle. "It still is—just moved a couple of miles away, dear."

Even though Grissom had thought Sara had brought a lot of food, by the time the meal was finished, there was nothing left but fruit peelings and empty containers. The children's energy had been renewed by lunch and a game of chase and tumble was occurring on the sloping lawn.

Grissom had settled on the blanket, his head in Sara's lap, eyes closed, and for a while, they remained together, their hands touching, fingers winding together in familiar ways as they watched and listened to the happy sounds of their children overlaying the rustle of trees and the sounds of far-away birds.

"They are having a wonderful time," Sara said. Softly, she laughed. "I never thought it would take so long to return."

Grissom chuckled, "Well, we had a lot of things going on for a few years!"

At that moment, one of the doors opened and a young woman appeared on the porch.

"Dr. and Mrs. Grissom! Welcome—I didn't want to disturb your picnic, but I've found something I think you'll enjoy."

"Paulina!" Sara called. She had talked to the young librarian on two occasions to set up this picnic, explaining why they wanted to return to the place, not as researchers but as visitors. Sara stood, reached to assist her husband, and introduced the two. She waved toward the two children, saying "That's Will and Gemma."

In her hands, the young woman held a thick book. "After we talked, I found the photo book from the time you were here!" She handed the book to Sara. "I think you might find yourselves in here. Back then, most everyone printed photographs and sent a few back to the center."

Sara and Grissom sat on the steps and started turning pages. The only apparent organization was the insertion of photos into envelopes marked with the month. Sara flipped pages forward until she found the envelope for the month Grissom had arrived and removed a handful of colorful photos.

Will and Gem, noticing their parents had moved from the picnic spot, ran to the porch and immediately situated themselves next to their parents.

"Who's in the pictures?" Will asked.

Sara held up one of a group. "These are the people I worked with when I came a long time ago."

Wiggling her body between her father's knees, Gem asked, "Is this when you got married? Did all these people come to the wedding?"

Sara shuffled through several more photographs before pulling one out. "Here we are!"

The children and Grissom leaned forward to study the picture of a small group. Grissom began to laugh, pointing to a small monkey. "I remember that little monkey—he would take food off your plate!"

"Here's another," Sara said. Softly laughing, she added, "It's stepping back in time." She handed the photo to Grissom—it was one of him and another man standing knee-deep in a stream, both men holding a fishing rod.

Quickly, Sara pulled more photographs from another envelope. "Look," she handed a photo to Grissom. "Our wedding—I knew several people took photos that day." She placed the book beside her and held five more pictures in her hand.

Will and Gem kept their eyes moving from one picture to another. "That's Mom!" Will said as he pointed to a smiling Sara. "Look, Gem, she has flowers! And cake!"

Gem had squirmed until she was perched on her father's leg. "Mommy, you are so beautiful! Even if you didn't wear a real wedding dress." Her little finger moved across the photo. "I like your dress! Is this Dad?" She turned her face, laughing. "Daddy, you have the same hat!"

Grissom chuckled, "No, not the same hat." He reached for one of the photographs in Sara's hand. It was one of the two of them in mid-turn, both smiling and holding hands. Looking at the photo, he said, "I don't think I realized how traditional our wedding was—do you remember all of this? Who brought the cake?"

Sara shook her head, laughing. "I barely remember anything, Gil. I was walking in a dream from the day you arrived!"

Will broke up the reflective, romantic memories by announcing, "I have to go to the bathroom."

_A/N: We appreciate all of you reading, and a special thanks to those who review! One more chapter in this story-totally GSR (did you think we'd write a story without s-e-x?) _


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: The last chapter of this story...thank you for reading! We appreciate your comments, reviews, suggestions for another story. _

**Needing You**

**Chapter 14**

The sense of smell is a powerful trigger for memory. As Sara walked through the flower scented house, it was easy to remember her first days in the country, meeting strangers who would become friends, spending day after day in the rainforest recording information for researchers, all the while, hiding a black abyss in her soul. Until one day, that darkness was lifted, the void filled when the man she had given up appeared in front of her.

And a new life began.

They had been surprised when their research project had been accepted and funded. For years, they had filed paperwork for a grant, never receiving full funding, until this one. Grissom had laughed, saying their names had finally rotated to the top—and along with the grant, an additional bonus, a house was provided-the entire family would go. In a few months, the family had packed needed items, worked out arrangements for their house, taken Spanish lessons, and left Las Vegas bound for a world-renowned research center.

It had surprised Sara how rapidly the children had accepted the move and change—but they were flexible at their age, willing to follow their parents anywhere. The excitement of a new place, the thrill of new adventures, living in a new house had worked in their favor. And now that all their belongings had arrived, everyone was feeling comfortable in their temporary home.

She latched doors and lowered windows, moving quietly as she shut the house for the night. The house was small with wide screen porches, a central living-dining room-kitchen, and two bedrooms on either side with efficient but small bathrooms for each. It was a light-centered open house; nature was outside every window. The scent of flowers came from the tangle of vines growing on the south side of the house—orchids or lilies, Sara thought. A short distance away, and situated to provide privacy, were seven other houses, almost identical except for color, and all were occupied by researchers with wide-ranging projects.

Sara picked up drawing papers the children had left on the table; they had already made friends with other children in the center. School would begin in several weeks; she smiled, knowing the excitement would be boundless for Gemma with this new adventure.

Her day-dreaming was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. She looked up, smiled, and opened her arms as her towel-clad husband stepped forward and embraced her.

"Beautiful Sara," he whispered. "Will and Gem are asleep—tucked in, covered up."

His hand slid up her back; she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his ear. Wrapping her arms around him, she welcomed the play of his hands, his lips, his tongue. Their bodies molded chest to chest, hip to hip, and the growing bulge of his erection against her belly made her eager to get closer, to feel his skin against hers.

Quietly, softly laughing, they moved across the room, through a doorway into the bedroom, and managed to land with a bounce on the bed. Quickly, Grissom's towel was gone; he worked her top over her head.

"Hang on," Sara whispered as she planted a kiss on his mouth, then scrambled out of her long pants. She left her blue panties on and when she pushed her husband on his back; his fingers were caressing her butt, sliding under the silky fabric, warming the flame of desire. Kissing her deeply, he rolled on top of her. One hand pulled her leg around his hip so the jut of his erection pressed against her stomach.

Grissom kissed her throat, his hands playing as he moved from neck to her breast, circling, fondling, kissing her heated skin as he moved lower, teasing her with his tongue in ways known between lovers; the crest of her nipple, her rib, around her navel. His tongue traced along the line of the pale scar above her pubic bone as his elbow gently spread her thighs.

Arousal built and rippled through her body as everything in her focused on the exquisite sensation of having him pleasure her. His tongue and fingers, his warm breath and the tantalizing play of his lips drove her to the edge of control; she sucked in air, fighting to restrain her passion. Part of her wanted this act to go on forever; another part wanted him inside her until they both climaxed in a breath-taking, spine tingling explosion.

"Gil," she whispered, "enough!"

With a rumbling laugh, he started his way back up her body, stopping to give added attention to her breasts while keeping one hand, and several fingers busy between her thighs. Sara whimpered softly and he grinned with satisfaction. The tip of his penis touched her sex; teasingly, for several seconds, he lifted away and sank back down, going a little deeper each time.

Sara's arms and hands pressed against his back, her mouth met his as she poured passion into the dance of lips and tongue. Once he was completely embedded inside her, he hardened even more.

"You look happy," he whispered which caused her to laugh, a sound so familiar, so sexual, so delightful to his eyes, his ears. He knew her answer before she replied.

Her mouth met his and against his lips, he heard, "I am happy."

Their pace increased; Sara arched into his movements, and as she started to peak, he held her tightly until her gasp of pleasure shot him up and over, thrusting himself deep over and over until a powerful release swept him as he joined in echoing her climax.

At some point, Grissom draped covers over them in one quick motion, rolling Sara on her side to face him. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, shifted closer so his chest rubbed her nipples, his softened penis nested in her damp curls, the wetness of their bodies mingling. With energy drained, Sara cuddled against him, burying her face against his shoulder.

"Smaller bed," she whispered."

"We don't need much room," he said as he pulled her tightly into his arms.

Her response was a soft hum. Her palm cradled his face as he felt a deep intake of breath. "I'll always remember the day you came. Afterwards, I was in a dream—a trance—looking at those photos today I realized how much I don't remember."

He responded, "I remember how beautiful you looked," he laughed softly. "The rest I've made up as a story for Will and Gem—their own frog and princess story."

Sara laughed and snuggled underneath the lightweight covers.

In the distance, they heard rain hissing through the forest before becoming a rapid tattoo vibration on the roof of the house. And instantly, it became a downpour, waterfalls rushing over the porch eaves, rain drops splashing in the gravel driveways, torrents of water hitting plants and flowers, and bringing in the scents of the night.

Deeply, Sara breathed in the rain-soaked fragrances. "I remember," she said softly, "I remember needing you."

The End!

A/N: _Thank you for reading...we appreciate the encouragement of those who review! Should there be a story surrounding "Forget Me Not"- help us decide! Too many already? _


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